by Sean Davies
“We will reunite people shortly—please calm down,” the soldier replied bluntly.
Charlotte noticed his finger never strayed far from the trigger of his rifle.
Even though she was dazed and feeling faint, Charlotte could see that the town had been completely destroyed and rebuilt into something new. As they drove through what used to be a familiar village, she noted that she didn’t recognise any of the buildings, and strange contraptions were all over the place; even the landscape looked wrong compared to her memory of it, the ground having been levelled in large areas.
As Charlotte struggled to remain conscious, they travelled through another gate and down another road, finally stopping at the edge of the Clean Zone that she would one day call home. Her eyes finally closed, and she slipped into a turbulent sleep, before her new life began.
✽ ✽ ✽
The devastating events that young Charlotte had witnessed at the checkpoint had been just one of many in a long series of civilisation-shattering scenarios that had unfolded across the Earth, following the unknown object’s collision with the North Atlantic Ocean.
Some had said the object had been a meteor containing microorganisms, and others swore that it was a giant interplanetary spore, while some people claimed that it had been the result of an alien first-contact gone wrong; the list went on. Only the highest-ranking officials seemed to know for sure, but they hadn’t divulged that information to the public whilst they had still been able to. Everyone alive knew what the object had grown into, however.
Within moments of the unidentified object touching the Earth’s ocean, the spores had begun to spread. Either by luck or design, the planet hosted the perfect conditions for the alien plant life to thrive, and while forces from all over the world had gathered to study and blockade the budding green and beige foreign plant life from forming on the ocean’s surface, the myriad of alien microorganisms beneath the waves had dispersed at an astonishing rate. It had been weeks before anyone noticed, and by that point it was already too late.
Fishermen had reported that their catches were deformed and host to fungal tumours, sometimes slug or spider like organisms, and even crazier still, they had claimed that the fish were writhing and wriggling long after they should’ve suffocated. Marine Biologists had also reported strange findings in everything from seaweed to whales. Unlucky people all over the world had begun to suffer from extreme hay fever-like symptoms, in some cases so severe that it actually caused death, and that had been when the governments truly realised just how dire the situation was.
The foreign life had spread throughout the water and air, and crossed between plant, animal, and insect life with ease. Governments and organisations the world over had come together in the biggest cooperation effort in the planet’s history, in an attempt to safeguard the Earth as they knew it. They had given the varying alien and mutated microorganisms the blanket term of ‘the virus’ and had set to work preparing for the worst, whilst also researching ways to cure and exterminate the alien flora. They had feared that the extreme symptoms and mutations manifesting in the sea life would also occur on land, so they began to evacuate the best and brightest members of humanity to already existing Arcologies—massive self-sustaining superstructures, sealed away from the outside world under an enormous crystalline dome. They had originally been built as a global ‘architectural art project’ but had later become known as ‘Pure Zones’, housing humanity’s elite and shielding them from the changing world around them. Other quarantine zones were constructed, sparing no expense considering humanity’s very existence had been at stake, and those individuals with a measurable or total virus resistance had been allowed entry; these less complex—but just as vital—areas had become known as ‘Clean Zones’.
By the time the newly formed United Earth Government had set a secret plan in motion to free the world from the alien organisms, society had begun to quickly break down, and humans and animals alike were turning feral. It had started with those who were suffering the most severely from the extreme ‘hay fever’, and had then been transferred via blood, saliva, or many newly-mutated delivery systems to others. Those infected developed increased strength, resilience, or a host of strange mutations and abilities, depending on which strain of microorganism had dominated their body; some had even been quite ingenious at finding and infiltrating their way to new victims, appearing completely normal until they drew nearer to survivors before the main symptoms flourished rapidly. Fighting had been fierce, and not every Clean or Pure Zone had managed to survive the initial waves of infected.
By that time, the sea-plant (or Flora Ingens Aliena, in its given Latin name), had grown to the point where it could’ve doubled as an island, and naturally-formed chimneys for heavy spore distribution had sprouted from its mass along with flowers, trees, mushrooms, and every other type of plant life imaginable. Regular attacks had seemed ineffective, and even brought about reprisals from wave-crashing roots, vines, and thick vision-blocking spore clouds capable of interfering with electronics and communication. Other sea-plants had started appearing in the world’s oceans, and wireless communication began to fail between the remaining Clean and Pure Zones (which had been blamed on the vast quantities of spores floating in the atmosphere, playing havoc with the airwaves).
The unchanged survivors had hoped that the world leaders would come through with their secretive master plan, but the years passed by and the world had just kept on changing, mutating, and evolving. Infection had only been the first step, after which everything on the infected Earth had begun to flower and grow; Terra was in bloom.
✽ ✽ ✽
Fifteen Years Later…
Charlotte had grown up considerably during her time at Clean Zone 14, and felt far older than her twenty-one years, even if she didn’t look it. She had dyed her hair red and cut it short, shaving one side and leaving only a long side-swept fringe at the front. Charlotte was pretty, her shrewd blue eyes revealing a focused mind and burdened past, and her body had filled out considerably, giving her an inviting feminine form—not that this mattered to most of the people living around her. She was different, so they stayed away.
Charlotte lit up a cigarette as she approached the parked military transports—the dangers of smoking didn’t apply to her—and watched as the others in Clean Zone 14 tried to avoid her gaze. They cared greatly for their health, fearing anything that might reduce their body’s resistance to the alien pollen and spores, so smoking was a way for her to show off the fact that she wasn’t like them and that she didn’t give a crap about it. She was immune, and not just to the virus; Charlotte was immune to pretty much everything.
She was one of a small group of ‘gifted’ children to arrive at Clean Zone Fourteen. There were others scattered amongst the survivors that they knew of, and probably even more around the world. Charlotte’s parents hadn’t been lying when they had complimented her, although they obviously hadn’t known the true extent of how different their daughter was. She was one of a few members of humanity that had taken their first baby steps towards something more evolved—or so the last decent intelligence they’d received had said. What had started just as a notable increase in intellect had blossomed into full blown superhuman abilities with each passing year.
Charlotte and her kind were stronger, faster, smarter, and possessed sharper instincts and reflexes than their ‘normal’ counterparts. The attribute that truly set them apart in the day and age in which they lived though, was their complete immunity to every ailment known to man, along with everything the alien plant life could throw their way. This made them a vital part of operations outside of the Clean Zones. They were still susceptible to conventional wounds but they healed tremendously fast, and as long as they kept themselves mostly intact, Charlotte and her kindred could survive injuries that would kill a normal human being. Despite her abilities, however, life in Clean Zone 14 had been far from easy.
Shortly after she’d arrived, Charlotte had been taken und
er the wing of Captain Julia Jameson, who had raised her alongside her daughter Eleanor. Charlotte had been emotionally devastated by the loss of her best friend and parents, and traumatised by the events she had witnessed, but the good Captain had been a kind and strong figure despite the apparent loss of her husband.
Eleanor Jameson had been too young to understand what had been going on at the time of the outbreak, but she missed her Dad terribly and had often made it clear in recurrent violent tantrums. It hadn’t been until years later that she truly grasped the magnitude of what had happened to the world, and probably her dad too. She too was ‘gifted’ like Charlotte, made apparent by her keen intellect, amazing speed and strength, and claimed that she still remembered exactly what her father looked like despite her age at the time.
In the early months, the outer perimeter Clean Zones had been under almost constant attack by what they used to call ‘Ferals’; the members of the newly infected who had lost their minds and would stop at nothing to infect others. Clean Zone 13, which had been situated next to the checkpoint that Charlotte had passed through as a child, looked to have the situation under control, but a surprise outbreak within the zone itself had crippled their defences. It was later revealed in a hectic rescue mission that different strains of the virus had made it through the checkpoints, and Clean Zone 13 had fallen prey to a particularly potent parasite they later named Spiderspore. What little land that had survived was put to the torch to prevent its return. Clean Zone 14 had moved in to re-establish a functioning presence and rebuild the barricades, and they had noticed that the Ferals were attracted to the dead as much as the living. Before that point, deceased infected had been burnt quickly to prevent further infection, and to keep them down, but during the chaos in Clean Zone 13 that duty had been neglected. The dead bodies had literally sprouted into a host of different plant life, most of which bore fruit that had attracted the ferocious Ferals as much as the survivors did. From that point onwards, dead Ferals had simply been left to sprout far from the perimeter walls to act as a ‘meat shield’, and other overrun Clean Zones and checkpoints were also left in this fashion to draw the hungry hordes away from the surviving humans.
Clean Zone 14’s location had been chosen due to its lush fields and farmlands, but the first real crops produced since the sea-plant had fallen had all been mutated, not a single stalk managing to grow without becoming something else, something alien. The ground was scorched and salted, and ever since then they had been reliant on ‘clean foods’ like canned goods and ultra-long-life vacuumed packed goods. As such, scavenging missions outside of the perimeter had become vital to the Clean Zone’s survival.
Luckily, power and water were still supplied in a closed loop, separate from the old civilian grid. Clean Zones on the east and west shores of England were set up for these dual purposes and were known as Big Surge East and West; the term ‘clean’ could hardly be applied to them, but the overabundance of pollution deterred all but the most insidious of the virus’ creations. As communications between areas became more sporadic, their existence was only felt by the continuation of their services. The last real contact was when they had requested a huge amount of reinforcements—including all remaining helicopters and tanks—to be redeployed in an effort to fight back the continual attacks from the newly mutated denizens of the deep. This, along with a series of tragic deaths, had left Julia Jameson as Commander of Clean Zone 14. Not many forces remained after that point, so as soon as Charlotte and the others of her kind had hit their teens, they were helping in the essential supply operations, their immunity allowing them to scout areas unreachable to others and their enhanced abilities steering them clear of even the most dangerous situations. They were so seasoned now that they practically ran the missions.
Charlotte watched as Dean, a fellow Immune, loaded up some supplies into the four trucks they were taking on their next mission. He was a handsome young man with a stern but inviting clean-shaven face, and brown eyes which seemed older than the rest of him (a common feature amongst the Immune). Today he had attempted to tame his rebellious dark brown hair with some sort of product; not many people bothered with their appearance these days, so there was always plenty of beauty products to go around for those who did. Dean’s body was thick and muscular like a rugby player’s, not so much toned for attractiveness but built for power and purpose, and although he wasn’t much taller than Charlotte she always felt as though he towered above her. His demeanour was strict and severe, a product of his environment; he was one of the few survivors to have made it out of Clean Zone 13 and had refused to live with foster parents upon his arrival here, claiming that he was ‘too old’ and choosing to live in the barracks instead.
Dean caught Charlotte looking and began to lift additional supply cases to impress her, putting extra effort into showing off his biceps as he loaded the trucks. The other soldiers joining them on the mission were carrying a single case between two people, and Dean was now managing one in each arm.
For the first few years of them knowing each other, Dean had seemed like a broody big brother to her, or a cooler older friend. Then puberty had hit, and ever since he’d wanted something more. It wasn’t that Charlotte didn’t think he was attractive (she often found herself wondering exactly why she wasn’t into him), but she just couldn’t bring herself to cross that line. Every time she found herself thinking about the ‘Dean problem’, Charlotte always ended up coming to the same conclusion: that there were far more important things to worry about in this dangerous new world than sex and relationships.
Charlotte looked away, taking a long drag from her cigarette and letting the smoke spill from her mouth with a pained sigh. In every direction she turned she could see nosy neighbours peeking out of the blue and grey prefab blocks, and she started pulling faces at the aghast residents, annoyed that the Immunes they treated like circus freaks would soon be risking their lives in order to continue theirs.
Charlotte felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see young Jinx standing by her side. The brown-eyed Jinx was a fellow Immune, small, energetic, and enthusiastic, with dark skin and wild wiry hair that was usually decorated with various bright dyes (and sometimes even spray-paint if she couldn’t find the right colour), arranged in bushy pigtails. Jinx didn’t care for her uncontrollable hair much, especially as it grew back abnormally fast, and she often resorted to self-inflicted corrective haircuts or full-on buzzcuts. She was still young at the age of fourteen, still experimenting with her identity, and unlike the other Immunes she truly acted her age. Alongside her twin brother Jake—who was her polar opposite—they applied their keen minds to the workshop where they specialised in maintenance, repairs, invention, and innovation.
“Hey, Jinxie—are you coming along too?” Charlotte joked, knowing that the little Immune feared the outside world, and rightly so.
Jinx shook her head nervously, pieces of paint-coated hair falling away as she did so. “Oh no, no, no... I’m not... I don’t want to go out there… ever. No, I came to give you these!”
The young girl patted down her shabby mismatched clothing, comprised mainly of pockets and pouches, until she found what she was looking for. Out of a bag attached to her toolbelt, she produced three homemade grenades in sleek silver casings.
“Three this time, huh?” Charlotte commented, accepting the canisters gratefully. “Why aren’t you giving them to one of the others?”
“Commander Jameson told me to give them to you,” Jinx replied cheerfully. “Be careful with them, though—you know they’ll hurt you too.”
Jinx’s attempted virus cures were great at clearing out anything infected; the trouble was, they killed everything else in their path too, and whatever mix of chemicals they contained were even strong enough to harm the Immunes. The last time Charlotte had accidentally inhaled a bit, she had been coughing up blood for days.
“Yes, I know,” Charlotte droned; Jinx warned them every time like a broken record. “But why would the Commander—?�
��
“She said she’d come and talk to you,” Jinx interrupted hurriedly. “I’d better go, or else Jake will get grumpy.”
“Grumpier, you mean,” Charlotte smirked.
Jinx giggled. “Good luck out there!” she cheered, before giving Charlotte a hug and skipping off back to her brother.
Charlotte finished her cigarette and smeared it out on the floor beneath her boot. Commander Julia Jameson and an armed escort were walking down the road, their uniforms black and grey like Charlotte’s but without the glossy protective armour patches that were so vital in scavenging runs.
Tagging along at a measurable distance behind them was the commander’s daughter, Eleanor, whose long blonde hair was tied back in a tight pony tail, and her slender form padded out in the same attire as Charlotte’s. Although the girl was beautiful, she always had a face like thunder, and this—combined with the gloomy attitude—had earned her the nickname ‘Thunder’.
Charlotte noticed that Thunder was keeping a firm eye on Dean, and Charlotte wished that she’d just practise a smile occasionally and try her luck with him; the two of them ending up together would save her from the repeated awkward rejection encounters.
Charlotte saluted the Commander when she drew closer. “Ma’am.”
Jameson saluted in return. “At ease,” she smiled kindly. The years had been kind to Julia’s visage, and she still looked like the woman who had picked her and Leanne out of the crowd all those years ago. “Did Jinx ruin the surprise?”
“She said that you wanted to see me before I went.”
“Nothing else?” Julia smirked. “The girl is finally learning to hold her tongue...”
“So, what’s going on?” Charlotte asked impatiently, worried that bad news was on the way.
“You’re being promoted to Lieutenant,” Jameson told her proudly. “We’ll make you up some sort of insignia for your uniform when you return. Sorry for the informality, it was a last-minute decision after a minor change of plans. Captain Roberts will be leading the convoy until you reach CZ-10—he’ll stock up one truck with fresh food supplies and return, and after that you’ll be in command of the Colchester mission.”