Mutation (Twenty-Five Percent Book 1)

by Wheatley, Nerys

  “We could stop for a few minutes,” Cutter said, seeing his look.

  Alex shook his head. Twice today they’d only just got to someone in time. A few minutes could mean a death on his conscience.

  “I’m fine.” He stretched his arms energetically into the air. “Detoxing. It’s good for me.”

  Cutter snorted. “Well, you look like crap, but if you say so.”

  . . .

  “Stop!”

  Cutter jammed his foot on the brake, bringing the Porsche to a screeching halt. “What?!” He whipped his head around, searching for the cause of Alex’s sudden outburst.

  Alex pointed through the passenger side window. About fifty yards away, across a small grassed area between buildings, a man was lying on the ground. Three eaters were on their knees beside him, faces covered with blood, their teeth tearing at the flesh of his arm, shoulder and leg.

  “No,” Cutter said, his voice shaking.

  Alex opened his door and climbed out, pulling his pistol from the holster at his waist and starting towards the nightmarish sight. It was then that the man’s arm raised, clawing at the air. Alex heard a ragged, pain filled groan.

  He’s still alive, he thought, his gut twisting in horror.

  “Get off him,” Cutter growled beside him.

  The eaters stopped chewing and looked up. Seeing new prey, they lurched to their feet. Cutter took aim and fired, putting bullets into the heads of two of them as they staggered with surprising speed towards them. His third shot missed. Alex didn’t.

  When they approached the man lying in the grass, Alex was relieved to see that he had passed out. Blood seeped from his wounds, fat and bone showing through the mauled flesh, chunks of muscle scattered over the grass.

  Cutter leaned over, planted his hands on his knees and vomited. Alex swallowed and fought to keep down what little he’d eaten during the hectic day. The smell of urine and blood was almost overwhelming. He tried in vain to find some fresh air to breathe.

  “What the hell is going on?” Cutter said, straightening and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “This is... what the hell is going on?”

  Alex shook his head. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the grisly sight in front of them. “I don’t know,” he whispered.

  It was somewhere around four in the afternoon. The situation on the streets was becoming chaotic. Shops and businesses were closing, people were panicking, trying to get home. They and every other cop and emergency services worker had been picking up eaters non-stop since the morning, but they couldn’t keep up as more and more appeared. But this was the first time they’d seen any of them feeding.

  For the first time, Alex considered the frightening possibility that this wasn’t going to end.

  Somewhere nearby, someone screamed. They both looked in that direction, but there was nothing to see.

  “MacCallum...”

  Alex looked at Cutter and saw his strained expression.

  “I... my girls...”

  “Go,” Alex said. “I’ll deal with this and get back to the station.”

  “I wouldn’t even think of leaving my duty, but...” He looked at the man on the ground, wounds bleeding, flesh torn. “If anything happened to them...”

  “I understand,” Alex said. “Do what you have to do.”

  “You won’t have a car...”

  “It’s not that far. Just go. Find Beth and Carrie and keep them safe. I’ll be fine. I’m a Survivor, remember? They won’t bother me.”

  Cutter nodded and gave a small smile. “You’re okay, MacCallum.”

  Alex grinned. “Are you getting all mushy on me?”

  Cutter smiled. “You wish. Be careful.”

  “You too.”

  Alex watched as his partner ran back to his Porsche and sped off, then turned back to the man lying in the grass. Eyes still closed, his chest was rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. Yesterday, Alex would have taken him to the hospital for treatment, but today? He wasn’t even sure the hospital would be open anymore and the man was badly wounded. Alex knew there was no hope for the poor man. But he couldn’t just leave him.

  He raised his gun, pointing it at the man’s head. His finger hovered on the trigger. He’d killed eaters before, but this man wasn’t an eater yet. He was still alive, still human. Alex had never killed anyone who wasn’t turned. He’d been in the same position, once.

  His hands began to tremble.

  “Damn.”

  His arm dropped to his side. It was no use, it felt too much like murder. Frustrated at himself, he pulled his phone from his pocket. If he could get permission, that might make it easier. Deep down, he knew he was just trying to shift the blame, or delay the inevitable. Whatever it was, he wasn’t proud of himself for it. But he still dialled the station.

  All he got was a busy tone. He tried dialling Inspector Parker’s private number. Busy again. He got the same result from every number he tried, including his parents and brother. It wasn’t the people, it was the signal. He wished he had a landline to try, but phone boxes were a dying breed now. Maybe so many people were calling their loved ones that the networks couldn’t handle it.

  Whatever, there was nothing else for it. He would have do this by himself.

  He turned back to the injured man and almost jumped out of his skin when he twitched. He was coming around. If he didn’t do this now, the man would be awake. Alex shuddered at the thought of having to do it looking him in the eye. He raised his pistol.

  The man’s eyes snapped open and Alex drew in a sharp breath. The irises were white, like his. He opened his mouth and moaned, sitting up. Blood pumped from his wounds, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  Alex took a step back, attempting to process what he was seeing. It just wasn’t possible. It took five days for someone to turn and it had barely been ten minutes for this man. How could that be possible?

  The new eater moaned again and started to push to its feet. Alex took aim and fired a single round into its head. It slumped back to the ground and didn’t move again.

  Alex stared at it for a while. Ten minutes. People were turning within ten minutes. How could they fight that? No wonder there were so many eaters on the streets. And there would be more. This was becoming a full blown outbreak. He needed to get back to the station.

  The rumbling of rotor blades caught his attention and he looked up. Flying low above the rooftops, a military helicopter passed overhead and disappeared beyond the surrounding buildings. Alex waited for a full minute for anything else to appear, but that was it. Had the army been sent in to help? Was the chopper scouting the area before they sent in the troops? He hoped so. Sarcester’s emergency services were being overwhelmed. There was no way they could contain the outbreak by themselves.

  Feeling a little more hopeful that they weren’t alone, Alex holstered his gun and took off at a run.

  The station was only about a mile and a half away and it should have taken him three minutes at full speed. Unfortunately, his journey wasn’t without incident. He shot eleven eaters, including two who had a woman trapped in a red phone box (which had no phone and was now a tiny art gallery). Alex dispatched the eaters and made sure the attractive young blonde woman, whose name was Cassandra, got home safely. She even gave him her number, which was almost unheard of for him since he’d become a Survivor. But she was extremely grateful. And so was he.

  By the time Alex reached the station he was almost out of ammunition, it was forty-five minutes later and he was seeing more eaters wandering around than he’d seen in total in his entire life.

  He had expected chaos at the police station, people looking for safety and shelter, police officers wrangling the panicked crowd. What he found was nothing. The building looked deserted from the outside. There were plenty of cars in the car park, but no people. Drawing his pistol, he crept through the front doors.

  He needn’t have bothered trying to keep quiet. The first five bodies lay in the waiting area beyond the doors.


  6

  All five of the people lying still on the tiled floor had died from bullet wounds to the head.

  Three had visible bite marks. They were all members of the public. The smell of copper was stifling. Blood swathed the floor with drops and streaks leading to the door through to the rest of the station. Heart thumping in his chest, Alex headed in that direction.

  Although it was unlocked, on first try the door didn’t budge. Alex pushed against it until it slid reluctantly open, then squeezed through the gap. A body slumped against it on the other side, a man with brown hair and a slightly rotund midsection. Officer David Sharpe. Alex didn’t know him well, but he remembered attending his bachelor party seven months ago. A huge chunk had been ripped from his shoulder.

  Alex turned away, feeling sick.

  Everything was quiet as he continued along the corridor. There were more bodies, mostly people he didn’t know, a couple that he did. Belinda the dispatcher was crumpled in a heap in the briefing room doorway, her dishevelled ponytail now matted with blood.

  He stared at her body for a few seconds. The hand holding his pistol began to tremble. Gripping the gun tighter, he walked on.

  After too much blood and death, he reached the inspector’s office.

  “Alex, you made it.”

  Alex jumped at the voice breaking the silence. Parker was sitting in the chair behind his desk. Four more bodies, three women and a man, lay on the floor between him and the door. The inspector’s pistol lay on the desk in front of him, next to a framed picture of his wife.

  “Sir, what happened?”

  Parker gave a wan smile. “I made a mistake, that’s what happened.” He drew a shuddering breath. “Someone came in with a bite. I should have put them down straight away. I didn’t know...” He winced and for the first time Alex noticed he was holding his left forearm. Blood stained his shirt sleeve. “They’re turning fast, far quicker than you could imagine.”

  “I know,” Alex said, staring at Parker’s arm, knowing what it meant. “Cutter and I saw an attack.”

  “Is Rodney...?”

  “He’s fine, sir. He went to find his daughters.”

  Parker nodded and sighed. He closed his eyes. “I don’t have long. You need to listen to me.”

  “Yes, sir.” Alex tried to keep his voice steady. He’d known Nathaniel Parker for a long time. He was a friend.

  “There’s no help coming. They’re sealing off the city to stop the spread.”

  “Sealing off? How?”

  “I don’t know details. I just know there are no phone or internet signals getting in or out. We’ve been abandoned. All you can do now is get to any loved ones you have here, find somewhere safe and stay alive. I got Belinda to tell everyone who’s still out the same thing. Before...” He glanced at the bodies on the floor and shook his head. “If you happen to see my wife,” he paused and looked at the photo in the frame on his desk, a look of pain crossing his features. “If you happen to see Allie, tell her I love her more than I could ever say. Don’t tell her how I died.” He paused and his eyelids began to droop, his head lolling forward for a moment before jerking back up again. “Go now,” he said, his voice slurring. “I don’t have much longer.”

  Alex felt a tear roll down his cheek. He wiped at it and nodded. “I’m proud to have served with you, sir. Nate.”

  Parker nodded and smiled. “You’re a great cop, Alex. One of the best. You’ll make it.” He waved him away, reaching for the pistol on the desk as Alex turned to leave.

  Alex had gone ten feet along the corridor when the single gunshot echoed through the building.

  All the energy suddenly drained from his body. Slumping against the wall, Alex closed his eyes and fought the aching despair rising in his chest.

  There had been no warning this morning, no clue as to what was coming. No hint of the pain and suffering the day would bring. The morning had started out as it always did. How long ago was that? How long since the world began sliding into oblivion? And Alex still didn’t understand what was going on. Eaters everywhere, turning within ten minutes of being infected, people being eaten on the streets. Was this some kind of spontaneous mutation of Meir’s Disease? Was it even the same virus?

  Was he still immune?

  His eyes snapped open at the distant sound of moaning. A shudder ran through him.

  Eaters.

  The rumbling moans became louder as he approached the holding cells and he suddenly remembered all the eaters that were brought to the station when disposal closed. Hopefully, those he could hear were all locked up. He drew his pistol again, just in case, and checked the magazine. Four rounds left. He thought of going to the armoury first, but he didn’t want to have eaters he didn’t know about roaming around behind him. Putting his trust in his marksmanship skills and the hope that these new breed of eaters would have no more interest in him than the old ones did, he carried on towards the cells.

  The smell hit him as soon as he stepped through the door leading to the cell block. The scent was undoubtedly eater, but slightly different to what he was used to. He hoped that didn’t mean bad news for him. The moaning seemed to come from everywhere, but there were none loose. He looked through the small Perspex windows of the first couple of cell doors he came to and saw eaters crammed together in the small spaces, jostling against each other. One saw his face peering through the glass and lunged towards the door. Others joined it, pressing against each other, crowding to get to him.

  Alex backed away, wondering how strong the doors were.

  “You wouldn’t want me anyway,” he muttered. I hope.

  Turning away, he grasped the handle of the door leading back out of the block of cells.

  “Hey!”

  Alex spun around at the sound of the voice, instinctively raising his gun. A banging sounded from further along the row of cells. The volume of the eaters’ mindless groans increased at the sound of the shouting and banging. En masse, bodies slammed against doors not designed to withstand so much pressure.

  “Hey! Is someone there?”

  “Shut up,” Alex hissed.

  He made his way slowly along the corridor, passing a few more cells filled with eaters, until he came to a door with a familiar face peering through the tiny window.

  Of all the people he didn’t want to see... “Micah Clarke.”

  Micah stared at him for a moment then threw his hands into the air in exasperation. “Of course it would be you. The universe hates me.”

  “Will you keep your voice down? The other cells are stuffed with eaters and I don’t know if the doors can hold them.”

  “What the hell...” Micah began, his voice even louder.

  “Shhh!” The man was an idiot.

  Irritation flashed across Micah’s face, but when he spoke again his voice had lowered. “What the hell is going on? First I saw eaters being brought in, then about fifteen minutes ago there were gunshots, then silence.”

  “Eaters are everywhere. They’re turning really fast. It’s chaos out there.”

  Disbelief clouded Micah’s features. “O...kay. Then just let me out and I’ll get out of here.”

  Alex regarded him cautiously. Was it safe to release the man who only last night was leading an angry mob and attacking him with a steel rod? Eaters were one thing, but militant anti-Survivor bigots were another. The ingrate would probably turn around and try to kill him just because he thought he could get away with it.

  “Come on,” Micah said, “you can’t just leave me here. I’m starving to death. They haven’t fed me since breakfast.”

  Alex sighed. Much as he wanted to, the man was right. Leaving would probably mean sentencing him to death, or worse, and Alex wasn’t a killer. Well, not of normals anyway.

  He turned and jogged back past the cells towards the guard station.

  “Hey!” Micah shouted. “Hey, you can’t leave me!”

  The thudding against the cell doors became louder. Alex heard the metal groaning under the p
ressure. Grabbing the key to Micah’s cell, he ran back and pushed it into the lock.

  “If you try anything, I will snap you in half,” he said, hoping it sounded menacing enough.

  “Oh yeah, you and whose army?” Micah said with a derisive laugh.

  Alex stopped turning the key.

  “I’m joking,” Micah said, “just let me out.”

  “I’m going to regret this,” Alex muttered to himself as he unlocked the cell and opened the door.

  Micah stepped out, watching Alex warily, and glanced around. He was still wearing the jeans, beige canvas jacket and white t-shirt he’d had on the night before.

  “Why are the other cells full of eaters?” he said as they made their way back along the row of holding cells. The moaning became louder again as the eaters strained to reach them, the Perspex of each small, square window fogging with their overheated breath.

  “We started bringing them here after the disposal centre couldn’t cope anymore.”

  “Couldn’t cope anymore? How many are there out...” Micah stopped speaking as they left the cells and stepped into the corridor running through the main part of the station. He gaped at the bodies scattered across the floor. “What happened?”

  “I wasn’t here,” Alex replied, “but Inspector Parker said someone came in with a bite.”

  Micah looked confused, shaking his head. “A bite, I don’t...”

  “Something’s happened to the virus, it’s mutated, it’s a new virus altogether, I don’t know. But people are turning minutes after they’re infected. The city has been sealed off, whatever that means, and we are on our own. It’s chaos now. That’s all I know. If you have anyone, find them and hide.” Alex turned away, heading for the armoury.

  “Hey, um...”

  He stopped and looked back. “Alex.”

  “Yeah. Uh, thanks. For letting me out.”

  Alex nodded and turned away, hearing footsteps head away from him. He continued along the corridor.