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.
“You’re all set,” Alex said to the officer hovering nearby as he slammed the police car door shut in the face of the eater. It jammed what was left of its bloody nose against the window and tried to eat him through the glass. “Tell the guys at disposal to email the paperwork to me at the Porter Street station. DC MacCallum.”
“Will do,” the man replied. “Nice grab, by the way. I’ve never seen one out on the street before. To be honest, we were getting a bit worried we’d have to shoot it.”
“Any idea where it came from?”
“Not a clue. When we got here it still seemed disoriented. I think it was recently turned. It only started to get really interested in the crowd after we’d got it trapped. We’ve questioned some of the people, but no-one knew anything.”
Alex looked down at the eater, which was smearing blood all over the window as it tried to get to him. It occurred to him how bad the situation could have been. If it had been farther along, if the responding officers hadn’t been able to contain it, the crowd, which was now slowly beginning to drift away, would have been first hand witnesses to how dangerous even just one eater was. Dozens could have been bitten. They would have been in the middle of a full blown outbreak. The developed world hadn’t seen one of those for over five years.
Something about the whole situation didn’t feel right.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Cutter said as they drove back to the station, “but you’re quieter than usual.”
Alex didn’t move his eyes from the view out the window next to him as Cutter guided his Porsche through the city streets. “I have a niggle.”
Cutter snorted. “A what?”
“Something’s niggling at me. That eater was newly turned, like in the last hour or so. Before I turned, I was running a temperature of a hundred and five and I’d felt like crap for hours. There’s no way I could have been walking around the centre of town. Also, its breath was minty, like it had recently brushed its teeth. It just feels like something’s not right.”
“Well, maybe when disposal get DNA and fingerprints we can get an ID and that will tell us where it came from where did you learn to drive? The dodgems?!”
Cutter gave a one fingered salute to the stunned motorist who had cut him off. The man glared and began to roll his window down. Cutter took his gun from its holster and casually held it flat against the glass next to him. The man rapidly rolled his window back up and sped off.
“Yeah, maybe.” Alex sighed, unable to shake the feeling that something was off. “I suppose I’ll feel better when I’ve had my coffee.”
“You haven’t had coffee yet? I’d had two cups before I got in. No wonder you have a niggle. You need some caffeine.” Cutter grinned and flipped the switches for the lights and siren.
Alex smiled. “You know how Parker hates it when we use the sirens for personal stuff.”
“What are you talking about? This is a bona fide emergency!”
Alex laughed as Cutter stepped on the accelerator.
4
“Where is everyone?”
Alex looked around as he and Cutter passed the almost empty squad room. In fact, the whole building seemed emptier than usual.
“Is there a briefing we should be at?”
They passed the briefing room. It was empty.
Cutter was silent, but he was frowning as they entered the break room. The sight of the coffee machine pushed Alex’s concerns to the back of his mind as his inner caffeine addict sat up and wagged its tail.
“Alex, you want in on questioning your guy from last night?”
He turned to see Inspector Parker at the door, a tablet in his hand. Alex glanced back at the coffee machine. “Now, sir?”
“I can do it alone, if you’re busy.”
“No, no, I can come.” He followed Parker into the corridor, casting a final look of longing at the hot brown liquid in the coffee machine jug. “Where has everyone gone?” he asked as they headed for the interrogation rooms.
“Same as you. We had calls come in about three more eaters loose when you were gone.”
“Outside?”
“Yeah. It is weird. Ben and Olivia say they�
�ve had a few in their areas too.”
Ben and Olivia. Nathaniel Parker was a relaxed first name type person. To Alex they were Inspector Carter and Chief Inspector Landry.
“So everyone’s out on the grabs?”
“As they’re out in public, I sent everyone we could spare. The quicker and cleaner the grabs, the better.” He opened the door to interrogation room two and Alex followed him in, his niggle returning with a vengeance.
The blond man from the night before sat at a functional Formica and metal table, his wrists handcuffed to a steel loop on the top. He looked, if it was possible, even more annoyed than the last time Alex had seen him, on the road outside his home around seven hours before.
He tensed visibly when he saw Alex. “You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered.
Parker pulled out a chair opposite him and sat, placing the tablet he’d brought in with him on the table and working on it. Alex remained standing, arms folded, one shoulder leaning against the regulation beige wall by the door.
“I wish to submit a formal complaint about...”
Alex’s nemesis stopped as Parker raised a hand, not looking up from the screen in front of him. The blond man pursed his lips in annoyance.
“Alright,” Parker said after a few more seconds. He sat back in his chair and looked at the man for the first time. “Your name is Micah Clarke, is that correct?”
The man narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”
“And you live at 58, Oxford Heights, Queen Street?”
“Yes.” He barely opened his mouth, his teeth grinding together.
“And your date of birth is...”
“Look, you know who I am,” he burst out angrily. “You don’t have to hear it again.”
Alex stifled a smile. People often mistook Parker’s easygoing personality as an indication he wasn’t very bright. They couldn’t be more wrong. He was legendary for being able to tell a suspect’s weaknesses and so get under their skin in interrogations. Apparently, Micah Clarke’s weakness was impatience. And he had a temper.
The inspector went back to studying his tablet. After another few minutes of silence, Alex thought Clarke was ready to explode. The prisoner fidgeted, pursed his lips, rubbed his hand across his stubbled chin, huffed, sighed loudly and drummed his fingers on the table. Parker maintained the pretence of ignoring him through it all.
Alex remained leaning against the wall, watching. Occasionally, Clarke would look at him briefly, his eyes filled with animosity.
“Does he have to be here?”
Parker looked up at Clarke’s question. He glanced at Alex. “Yes, he does. Do you have a problem with that?”
“Of course I have a problem with it.”
“And why is that?”
“Why?” He looked as if he’d been asked why he had a problem with herpes. “He’s a freak, an aberration, a disgusting, dangerous, cannibalistic monster. He’s a white-eye. Why wouldn’t I have a problem with him?”
Alex didn’t even flinch. He’d been called worse.
“I take it you don’t much like Meir’s disease Survivors?” Parker was studying his tablet again, feigning disinterest in the conversation.
Clarke sat back. “You could say that.”
“Is that why you were leading a violent mob through East Town last night?”
“I was leading a peaceful demonstration...”
“At two thirty in the morning?”
He shrugged. “It was the only time all of us concerned citizens were free.”
“And what about the attacks on Survivors over the past week?”
Clarke frowned at the sudden change in subject. “What?”
Parker looked up at him. “What do you know about the attacks?”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Really?” Parker raised his eyebrows. “I’d have thought that you, with your obvious dislike for Survivors, would have at least have heard about them.”
“Well, obviously I’ve heard about...”
“So you know who is carrying the attacks out? Are you involved?”
“What... no! No. Am I being charged with that?”
“No, Mr Clarke, but if you can help us with our inquiries, it might help you with the charges that are being brought against you.” Parker fixed him with a stare.
Clarke stared back, but said nothing.
A knock broke the minor standoff. Alex opened the door. Officer Georgina Jensen was outside.
“Sir?” she said.
Parker stood and walked to the door.
“We’re getting more calls about eaters on the streets,” she said quietly. “A lot more.”
Parker nodded. “I’ll be right there.” He turned back to the prisoner. “We’ll carry on this conversation later, Mr Clarke.”
“Wait, I want my phone call.”
“You’ll get it,” Parker said, following Alex from the room. At the last moment, he turned back. “And one more thing, Mr Clarke. Detective MacCallum is a decorated, respected, invaluable member of my police force and if I ever hear you speaking like that about him again, I will lock you up overnight with the next militant Survivor who comes through this station and the next morning, if there’s anything of you left, I will personally scrape it off the floor and dump it in the nearest rubbish bin. Am I clear?”
Clarke stared at him in silence. Alex wasn’t sure if he thought Parker was serious. He himself wasn’t sure that he wasn’t.
“Take him back to the cells, John,” he said to the officer outside the door.
“He knows something,” Alex said as they walked away.
“Yeah. We’ll question him again when we’ve cleared up the eater problem and he’s stewed for a bit longer in his cell.”
5
“Sir, disposal has put out an alert that they’re shutting down. They can’t take any more eaters. There are too many coming in. The holding pens are overflowing.”
It was almost midday and Alex and Cutter had just returned from taking three more eaters to disposal. They were reporting in before heading to the armoury for ammunition when they heard Belinda.
Parker looked round at the dispatcher from where he was standing in the briefing room, studying a map of the city that had been Blu-tacked to the whiteboard. Belinda looked frazzled, her blonde hair escaping from her usually scrupulously neat ponytail.
“What about the flash rooms?” Parker said.
“They say they’ve been running the flash rooms for over an hour at full capacity, but they can’t load and unload quick enough.” She ran a hand over her hair. “They sounded scared.”
Parker looked down. “We’re all scared,” he muttered, although only Alex was close enough to hear him. He drew in a deep breath. “Okay, tell everyone to bring the eaters here. We’ll put them into the cells until disposal opens again.”
“Yes, sir. And sir?”
“Yes, Belinda?”
“I can’t reach Officers Jackson and Penny.”
Parker’s gaze flickered to the floor momentarily, before returning to her face. “Find out who’s nearest their last known location and send them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alex watched Belinda hurry away. The news that the Meir’s Control and Allocation Centre, colloquially known as disposal, had been running the flash rooms sent chills down his spine, even though both he and Cutter suspected they must have been. They’d seen firsthand when they were there the volume of eaters being brought in, not just by the police, but by the fire and ambulance services too.
The flash rooms were built at the very beginning of the Meir’s Disease outbreak, incorporated into the newly constructed disposal centres, when more people were being infected and turning. The ten foot square metal rooms were for large scale dispatch of eaters. They could be loaded into the rooms en masse and massive currents of electricity were sent flooding through the space, instantly stopping the hearts of anything inside. But they hadn’t been used for over eleven years, not since the chaotic first year of the
outbreak. At a push, more than fifty eaters could fit in at once.
How many were out there?
“Thanks,” Parker said, marking the locations of the latest eaters Alex and Cutter had taken in on the map. “I’m sorry you’ve been going non-stop all day, but we’re barely keeping up here.”
“I know, sir,” Alex said. “We’re fine.”
Parker nodded and turned back to his map. Alex knew he’d been trying to work out a pattern to the outbreak, to trace it back to its origin.
“Have you found out where this started?” Alex said, walking up next to him.
“The nearest I can tell, somewhere here.” He pointed at an area called Reaper’s Farm to the north west of the city, an affluent neighbourhood. “Apart from a few outliers, the infection seems to be spreading from there, although I can’t work out why. The eaters on the streets now would have been infected days ago, so even if they had all been infected in the same place, logically there shouldn’t be a pattern at all. But there is.”
Alex looked at the dots on the map, each one marking where an eater had been picked up. They did indeed seem to be spreading outwards. He couldn’t think of any explanation either.
“If we see anything that might explain it, I’ll call it straight in,” he said. He spotted Cutter on his way back from the toilets. “We have to get back out there, sir.”
“Be careful, Alex. It’s getting worse.”
“Aren’t I always?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
Alex grinned and jogged out to join Cutter on his way to the armoury. He threw a longing glance at the coffee machine as they walked by the break room. He wasn’t sure he’d gone this long without caffeine during waking hours since he was seventeen.
Mutation (Twenty-Five Percent Book 1) Page 3