Mutation (Twenty-Five Percent Book 1)

by Wheatley, Nerys

  Micah shook his head. “How are you still alive?”

  Bates led them through the kitchen, into the hallway and up the stairs. Alex counted twenty-three people spread throughout the house, that he could see. Most of them, including Bates, were dressed in khaki camouflage like Creedon. Several of them were openly wearing firearms.

  Every one of them stared at Alex like he was something disgusting they’d stepped in. He kept an eye on the exits, in case he had to use one in a hurry.

  Once upstairs, they went straight what must have at one time been a bedroom. Now it was a small office, with a dark wood desk, a smattering of chairs, and a computer. A large map of the city covered the top half of one entire wall. Red dots were scattered across it, with a concentration in East Town, right where Alex lived.

  Bates lowered himself into a black leather office chair on the far side of the desk.

  Alex stared at the map, letting his gaze roam around the streets marked out on the paper. He knew several Survivors who didn’t live in East Town and found their addresses on the map, seeing the red dots marking out their houses.

  “It isn’t as bad as it looks,” Micah said from behind him.

  Alex turned around. “Really? Because how it looks is that this is the secret hideout of some anti-Survivor club, and now you’ve dragged me into the middle of it. Have I got that right?”

  Micah was twisting a gold ring on the middle finger of his right hand. Alex didn’t see him as the nervous type, so the subconscious movement made him uncomfortable. He glanced at the door.

  “Maybe you should explain why you’ve brought this man here,” Bates said, looking at Micah.

  “Okay,” he said, sitting in one of two chairs across the desk from Bates, “Alex, yes, this is an anti-Survivor group, but we need help and they can help us. They will have information we don’t. Bates, I brought Alex here because I trust him. He’s saved my life twice since yesterday...”

  “Three times,” Alex said, sitting down next to Micah.

  Micah frowned. “Three? I’m counting letting me out of the cell and pulling that eater off me earlier. When else?”

  “The helicopter,” he said. “If I hadn’t stopped you from taking a pointless pot shot at it, you’d be riddled with bullets now. And probably I would be too.”

  Micah pursed his lips. “Hm. Maybe.”

  “There’s no maybe about it,” Alex said. “I saw the look in their eyes, those soldiers were ready to shoot.”

  “Okay, for the sake of argument, I will give you the helicopter.”

  “And then there was when I got us out of the station car park...”

  “Oh no, I’m not giving you that. You almost killed us there. That we got out at all was pure luck and nothing to do with you...”

  “Micah,” Bates snapped.

  Both of them looked at the older man. He raised his eyebrows.

  “Sorry,” Micah said.

  Bates sat back and studied Alex. “So you’re the famous white-eye cop.”

  Being called a white-eye every few seconds was beginning to annoy Alex. He suppressed the urge to show the Rambo wannabe what a Survivor could really do. “Famous?” he said.

  “We know all about you here,” Bates said. “Not many white-eyes in the police force.”

  Alex clenched his fists in his lap.

  Micah glanced at him and cleared his throat. “We’re here because I think we can trade information. Do you know what’s going on around the city?”

  Bates opened his mouth to answer when a knock sounded on the door. “Enter,” he said.

  The door opened and a young man wearing black rimmed glasses poked his head around the door.

  “Sorry to interrupt, sir, but Biggs is back.”

  Bates frowned and stood. “Stay here,” he said before walking out the door and pulling it shut behind him.

  “What were you thinking?” Alex said, rounding on Micah. “Bringing me to the clubhouse for your little band of anti-Survivor, militia-wannabe, psychos? These people are flipping insane! And where did they get all those guns? This is how you repay me for saving your skin four times?”

  He stood and began pacing back and forth in front of the map.

  “Will you calm down?” Micah said. “You’re not in any danger. And it’s two. Three at a stretch.”

  Alex stopped and gaped at him. “They have a map of the addresses of every Survivor in the city! That woman wanted to put me down like a rabid animal. Right now I’d feel safer out with the eaters.”

  “Okay, maybe you want to avoid Creedon, but apart from her...”

  “Half the people here are wearing camouflage. Have any of them actually been in the army? And what on earth are they camouflaged for? We’re in a flipping city!”

  “You’re overreacting...”

  “Overreacting? Are you kidding me? I’m going to be lucky to make it out of here alive.”

  “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I thought you’d be in any serious danger,” Micah said. “I’ve known Bates a long time. He may be a bit extreme...”

  “A bit?”

  “...but he’s reasonable.”

  Alex jabbed his finger at the map. “This is not reasonable.”

  “Look, Bates knows stuff. He’s a raging conspiracy theorist, which is now a good thing. He’s been waiting for something big like this to happen. If the government have been planning this, he’ll know something about it. Plus, I’m hoping to get some weapons out of them.”

  Alex frowned. “How many weapons do they have? And where did they get those guns?”

  “I don’t know where they get them, I just know they have a stash. Will you sit down? You’re making me nervous.”

  “We’re in the lair of the crazy people in the middle of a city full of things that want to eat us and I’m making you nervous?”

  “Yes. Pacing makes me nervous.”

  Alex huffed and flopped back down into the chair. “If I end up dying here, I am so taking you with me.”

  Micah rolled his eyes. “You are such a baby. You’re a Survivor and a trained police officer and you’re stronger and faster than these people. Act like it. Right now they’re more afraid of you than you are of them. Apart from Creedon.”

  “That reasoning doesn’t even work for spiders. And was that a compliment?”

  “No.”

  The door opened and Bates came back in, his frown attempting to burrow through to the back of his head. He sat back down in the chair behind the desk and ran a hand over his short hair.

  “We spent all yesterday securing the area,” he said. “We’ve only got a fraction of our people here. A lot left to find their families or try to get out of town. Most never made it here in the first place. With the phone signal down, we’re in the dark. Some of our people said they heard something was happening on the roads out of town, but no-one knew what. I sent Wilson and Biggs out on a reccy this morning. Biggs just got back. He said they ran into a huge crowd of eaters on Bilton Road.” He paused, staring down at the desk in front of him. “Wilson didn’t make it.”

  “We’ve been near there,” Micah said, “we know what’s going on. We just don’t know why.”

  “So what’s going on?” Bates said.

  Alex spoke before Micah could. “Do you know any reason why the government would expect an eater outbreak here particularly? In this town?”

  Bates was quiet for a few seconds before answering. “Why?”

  “We saw what looked like a huge metal barrier on Park Street, about a mile from the centre. The whole road was blocked with empty cars and the area in front of the barrier was crammed with eaters. Thousands of them.”

  “A barrier?” Bates said.

  Micah nodded. “Covered the whole road, at least thirty feet high. Not something they could have just thrown up quickly.”

  Bates sat back and frowned silently for a while. “We’ve known for a while that there is a secret laboratory here where we think they are doing something with the Meir’s vi
rus, although we’ve never been able to find out what.”

  Alex wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “I’m sorry, did you say a secret laboratory?”

  Bates nodded.

  “As in, top secret, need to know government facility run by a crazed scientist and his sidekick cat doing freakish experiments on monkeys? That kind of secret laboratory?”

  Micah frowned. “Why would a cat be doing freakish experiments on monkeys?”

  Bates narrowed his eyes. “Are you taking this seriously?”

  “I’m having a hard time accepting the concept of a secret laboratory,” Alex said. “It’s a bit James Bond. And cats hate monkeys. It’s a well known fact.”

  Bates shook his head in disgust. “Where did you find this clown, Micah?”

  “He takes a bit of getting used to.”

  “Anyway, as I was saying,” Bates said, “there is a laboratory. We haven’t been able to confirm who runs it, but we think it may be Omnav, using government funds. We also think they may be experimenting with the Meir’s virus there. Security is tight so we’ve never been able to get anyone in, but it’s there.”

  “Omnav?” Alex said. “I thought they built vehicles for the military.”

  “That’s how they started out. Now they’re into construction, weapons manufacture, logistics...”

  “What’s that got to do with Meir’s?”

  He shrugged. “As I said, security is tight.”

  “Do you even know this so called secret laboratory is really there?” Alex said.

  “You came to me for help,” Bates said, jabbing a finger at him. “If you don’t believe what I tell you, that’s your problem. Bloody white-eye.”

  Micah interrupted before Alex could reply, which was just as well because what he was about to say would probably have got him shot.

  “We think the barrier we saw was where they had all that construction a few years ago, renewing all the major junctions running out of town. It could have been a cover for installing them, if there are more than the one we saw that is.”

  Bates’ eyes widened. “That construction was contracted out to Omstruc, the construction arm of Omnav.” He slammed his fist down on the desk in front of him, making Alex jump. “Damn it. We should have seen the connection back then.”

  He stood and began pacing back and forth in the small space. Alex watched him warily, feeling like he’d strayed onto the set of a bad political thriller. Secret laboratories and evil corporations? Bates and his flunkies were obviously subject to paranoid delusions.

  Except, he had seen the giant metal barrier. And something started this outbreak. It didn’t make sense that the virus could simply spontaneously mutate by itself without anyone noticing. If it had, it would have happened in one of the developing nations where the virus was still rampant and he would have heard something about it.

  But a secret laboratory? He’d believe it when he saw it.

  “What are you going to do?” Micah said.

  “We’re down on manpower,” Bates said, “and after losing Wilson, I can’t risk anyone else. We’re bringing our families in and holing up here. You can stay if you want.” He looked at Alex. “Not him though.”

  “I wasn’t planning on hanging around,” Alex said. “Even though the welcome has been lovely.”

  Bates stared at him like he was a pimple on a first date.

  “If you tell me where this secret lab is and fix me up with some weapons,” Micah said, “I’ll go and check it out. With all this chaos, it has to be easier to get in there now.”

  Bates shook his head. “I can’t ask you to do that. It’s too dangerous out there.”

  “You’re not asking, I’m offering. You know I don’t have any family here. I need to do something.”

  Bates sighed. “Alright. But you be careful.” He scribbled down an address on a piece of paper and gave it to Micah. “Fran’s in the armoury. Tell her I said to give you whatever you want. Within reason.”

  Bates stood, Micah following suit, and they shook hands, Bates pulling Micah in for a slap on the back.

  Then Alex and Micah were heading back down the stairs.

  “Was that a secret handshake?” Alex said.

  “Shut up.”

  When they stepped outside again, Creedon was where they’d left her, watching the gate. As soon as she saw Alex, she raised the rifle.

  “Relax, Creedon,” Micah said. “We’re going down to the armoury.”

  “For more ammo to shoot that with, I hope,” she said, gesturing at Alex with her rifle.

  “Please stop flirting with me,” Alex said, “you’re just embarrassing yourself.”

  She gave him a look that said she either wanted to jump him, or rip his throat out. Probably the latter.

  They walked along a path across the lawn to a six foot square brick shed at the end of the garden. As Alex was thinking it couldn’t be much of an armoury, they stepped inside and Micah pressed a button on the wall. The floor unfolded in front of them to reveal a spiral staircase. Tiny lights flickered on to illuminate the way down. It was impressive.

  “Does the driveway open up for a Harrier jump jet to launch from too?” Alex said as they descended the stairs.

  “No. The council wouldn’t give planning permission,” Micah said with a smile. “This was already here when Bates bought the place. The previous owner had a thing for wine and had a secret wine cellar built underground. Now it’s a secret weapons stash.”

  They reached a short corridor which took a u-turn and ran back to a door. Alex judged they must have been beneath the main house.

  Micah knocked on the door.

  “What?” a woman’s voice called.

  “Open up, Fran, it’s me.”

  A few seconds later, Alex heard bolts being thrown and the door opened. An older woman wearing a floral red dress and an apron smiled.

  “Micah,” she said, giving him a hug. “Haven’t seen you around in a while. And who’s your friend?” She turned to Alex and her smile vanished, replaced with a scowl. “What’s a white-eye doing here?”

  Alex rolled his eyes.

  “Bates sent me down here to get a few things,” Micah said, ignoring her comment.

  She stepped aside to let them in, still frowning at Alex. He tried to ignore her, which became a lot easier when he got a good look inside the room. Every conceivable weapon, from hunting knives to knuckle dusters, lined the room. Alex wandered over to a small, but significant cache of guns.

  “Where did you get these?” he said. “These aren’t even legal to own here.”

  “Got any skull-spikers around?” Micah said.

  “We have,” Fran said, pulling a small bag from a shelf.

  She unzipped it and sent the contents clattering onto a large table sitting in the centre of the room. Alex’s jaw dropped. At least twenty narrow black cylinders, each around five inches long, lay scattered on the beech effect melamine surface. Micah stepped forward and picked one up. He flipped open a small panel on the end and pressed a button beneath. With a soft click, a blade almost the length of the handle sprang from the end, its thin, smooth metal surface glinting in the light from the halogen bulbs overhead. Micah ran his fingers up the blade, stopping short of touching the tip.

  “But... but those were all destroyed ten years ago,” Alex murmured, more to himself than because he expected a reply. He picked one up and extended the blade, studying it in fascination. Up to now, he’d only ever seen them in photos.

  Originally designed during the initial Meir’s outbreak to pierce the skull with minimum blood spatter, skull piercing stiletto knives were perfect for stopping eaters without having to worry about running out of ammunition. Providing you could get close enough without getting bitten.

  They were originally only carried by the armed forces and police, but two years after the disease appeared, when new infections were no longer such a problem and eaters running loose were practically unheard of, their use was outlawed.

  Un
pleasant weapons, they were extremely sharp at the tip, but had no cutting edge so that minimal force was needed to pierce the hard bones of the skull. Their sole purpose was to kill and they were never available to the general public. After a handful of murders were committed with the weapons, however, the decision was made to ban and destroy them. They were still in use elsewhere in the world, but in many countries, including the United Kingdom, they no longer existed. Officially.

  “We intercepted a shipment on its way to be melted down,” Fran said, smirking. “Thought they’d come in useful one day.”

  On its way to be melted down. “How long have you been doing this?” Alex said.

  Fran shrugged and didn’t say anything.

  Alex pressed the button in the end of the handle again and the blade disappeared back into its recess.

  Micah was rummaging in the bag that had contained the skull-spikers. He pulled out a couple of long black gloves and slid his right hand into one, pulling it up to his elbow. The material was shiny and looked to Alex a little like an evening glove, with the addition of rubber grips on the palm and fingers. Alex knew what they were. The protective gloves were widely used in the police force for eater grabs, although he himself had no need of them now. They insulated the wearer against infection by eater blood, the material infused with a powerful anti-viral agent that killed the Meir’s virus on contact. Alex didn’t know exactly how it worked, but he knew it did. They had protected him several times, up until he was bitten on the leg.

  Micah was examining the glove on his hand.

  “Now all we have to do is find you a nice evening gown and you’re set,” Alex said.

  Micah pulled the glove off and stuffed it and its partner into a pocket. “I’m laughing on the inside.”

  . . .

  “Interesting friends you’ve got there,” Alex said when they were out on the street again.

  “I wouldn’t call them friends, exactly,” Micah replied.

  “How long have they been going?”

  “Since Meir’s first appeared. From what I’ve been told, the first group was formed by people who thought the government wasn’t doing enough to be ready for a full blown outbreak.”

  “So when did it become anti-Survivor central? When the first patient was cured?”