Mutation (Wildfire Chronicles Vol. 4)

by Griffiths, K. R.

Find Michael.

  It didn't take long. In fact Michael was in the first place John looked, exactly where he expected to see him. Back in the tower they had occupied that first night. Where he kept the rifle.

  "Congratulations," John said as he stepped into the tower. "I hear you're in charge now."

  "You heard wrong," Michael responded. "I'm not in charge of anything. I told all these people what Darren was. I don't think it was news to any of them. We'll take a vote on what to do next."

  "A vote?" John sneered.

  "Yes, John, a vote," Michael snapped. "These people have been scared into submission enough already. I'm sure as hell not going to start threatening them. Are you?"

  John sighed.

  "I don't want to be in charge of anything, Michael. Least of all...whatever this is."

  He jabbed a finger at the doorway and the castle beyond.

  "I do want to know how Gwyneth ended up dead, though."

  Michael's face dropped, and John scrutinised the man's eyes. John had a fairly evolved bullshit detector, but Michael was a good actor. Maybe too good.

  "I suppose I killed her, John," Michael said. "That what you want to hear? I was holding the gun, and she got shot, but I didn't mean for it to happen. I had no choice."

  "Got your hands dirty, huh?" John said. "Just like Darren. No choice."

  Michael opened his mouth to respond, and shut it abruptly when he heard the noise.

  A helicopter.

  Approaching fast.

  *

  "There's your Infected," Ray said, and whistled softly.

  For a moment Nick forgot that he was responsible for controlling the helicopter and stared open-mouthed at the endless blanket of bodies below them. Thousands upon thousands of the Infected, pressed together, lined up like an army preparing to lay siege the castle in the distance.

  Nick's mind span, and only when Ray clapped him on the shoulder did he realise that he was letting the chopper drop down steadily toward the sea of flesh and teeth. He yanked on the pitch control, bringing the nose up sharply and making the vehicle lurch dangerously.

  "Watch it, boy," Shirley growled behind him, and Nick nodded an apology.

  "What is this, Ray?" He said in a trembling voice.

  "Beats me," Ray said. "I guess they want the castle too."

  "I could turn around," Nick stammered. "We can find somewhere else."

  Ray shook his head.

  "There is nowhere else, Nick. Not until we've done what we came here to do."

  Nick clenched his jaw in frustration.

  "Why are they holding back like that?" Nick pointed at the strange boundary that seemed to be keeping the Infected from entering the town.

  Ray shrugged.

  "Aim for the big tower," he said, pointing at the castle. "Land on the roof if you can. If not, go for the gardens. If they start shooting, just focus on not crashing, okay?"

  Nick shot a horrified glance at Ray.

  "You'll be fine," Ray said with a grin, and hoisted the crossbow from his back. His eyes were filled with eager anticipation, and a grim determination that made Nick's heart sink.

  The chopper powered over the last of the Infected, and Nick saw a bank of eyeless faces lift toward the noise of the engine, and wondered how long he had left to live.

  *

  John raced out of the tower and watched the chopper approaching clumsily, the argument with Michael forgotten. It was an army chopper, but it didn't look like a gunship. More like a medical vehicle.

  What now?

  The chopper roared over the castle wall, and hovered unsteadily over the main tower, descending in jerky installments. Whoever the pilot was, they had more ambition than skill, John thought, and he began to back away, expecting the helicopter to plough into the stone walls and drop right on top of the stunned people watching from below.

  When he saw it land gingerly on the tower, with a shriek of metal scraping on stone, John wasn't sure whether he should be preparing for a fight or applauding the landing.

  The engine continued to howl for a few seconds, before dying away into a heavy silence, weighted down by anxious expectation.

  John looked at Michael, and from the look in the man's eyes, John could tell he was thinking about the rifle that he had left behind in the tower.

  "The guy in charge," a voice roared from the top of the tower. "Send him out."

  John and Michael exchanged blank stares. John shrugged.

  "Uh, we don't have a guy in charge," Michael yelled.

  "Bullshit!"

  John saw a face peering over the battlements.

  "The guy with the beard. Old guy. Where is he?"

  "Dead," Michael hollered.

  There was no response from the roof for several seconds. Michael stared at John and shrugged.

  "You're lying."

  "I killed him myself," Michael shouted back. "You can see the body for yourself." He paused a moment, and then added: "He deserved it."

  Again there was no response. Michael and John were still staring up at the roof expectantly when the door at the base of the tower opened, and a man emerged, aiming a loaded crossbow at Michael's face.

  "Show me," the man growled.

  *

  When Nick caught up to Ray, the man was already standing in the doorway to one of the castle's towers, staring grimly down at a corpse.

  Nick saw several other people looking on: a man in a wheelchair, a slightly older guy who looked like he had just received a savage beating, an attractive young woman who held a rusty shotgun and glared at Nick as he approached with open hostility.

  "Uh, Ray, is that him?" Nick said.

  "That's him," Ray growled.

  Nick had thought Ray would be happy to see the man dead, but he seemed, if anything, to be a little disappointed. It took Nick a moment to realise that Ray had wanted to kill the old man himself, and had been robbed of his revenge. For his part, Nick gave silent thanks that the castle hadn't erupted in the violence he anticipated the moment the chopper set down.

  Not yet, at least, Nick thought. The tension in the room was so thick he thought he might choke on it. He saw the injured man staring with interest at Ray, and Nick realised that despite the man's swollen face and bandaged leg, he was sizing Ray up, maybe even wondering whether trouble was about to start. The man looked ready if it did, and Nick coughed noisily, drawing everyone's gaze to him.

  He swallowed painfully.

  "Uh, I hate to ask the obvious question here," he said, "but are you guys all going to start killing each other? Because I've had a rough couple of days and...well..."

  He trailed off, and for a moment they all just stared at him, until finally, Ray's face split in a grin, and he put his crossbow on the floor at his feet.

  "I don't think there's any need for that, Nick."

  He looked at John, Michael and Rachel.

  "Is there?"

  *

  It took a long time for Ray and Nick to explain their story, but Michael knew instinctively it had the ring of truth. Ray and the band of bikers had been to the castle before, and Darren had turned them away, forcing them back toward the Infected that had pushed them into Caernarfon in the first place.

  When Ray described how Darren had shot one of them, and how they had lost more than half their number trying to escape, Michael saw tears welling in the man's eyes, and Ray didn't strike Michael as the crying sort. Only the truth would hurt that much.

  "You came back to kill Darren," Michael said bluntly.

  "Aye," Ray said. "And I'm kind of sorry you beat me to it. Gunshot was too quick for that bastard, I reckon."

  Michael nodded.

  "I wasn't really in a position to do much else," he said, and gestured at his useless legs.

  Ray snorted a laugh.

  "You people do know you've got thousands of Infected out there, right? We came along the coast, and I'd say you've got every single one within fifty miles waiting out there. Any idea why?"

  "Act
ually yes," Michael said. "Darren was keeping a girl prisoner. She's infected, but she...repels the others somehow. Some sort of...mutation, I suppose you'd call it. The virus acts differently in her."

  "I thought we decided she was immune," John said stiffly.

  Michael shook his head.

  "I'm not so sure there is any immunity, John," he said. "I think the virus just...changes people."

  "Like Gwyneth," John said, and his eyes burned into Michael.

  "Maybe," Michael said. "Probably. I don't know. But what we think of as immunity, well, it can't be can it? The virus is affecting people, even those it doesn't turn into the Infected as we know them. It turns them into...something else."

  Nick drew in a sudden, sharp breath, and they all turned to stare at him.

  "There's something I have to tell you," Nick said.

  *

  "A monster that becomes invisible and throws trees around like paper planes."

  John's voice was loaded with sarcasm. He stared at the guy in the army uniform with barely disguised contempt.

  "That's what you're telling us."

  "Not invisible," Nick snapped. "I think it just moves so quick you can't see it."

  "Right," John said. "I can see how that would be more believable. My mistake."

  He rolled his eyes, and looked at Michael and Rachel.

  "Please, tell me you don't believe a word of this."

  Rachel shrugged.

  "Is it that much more far-fetched than what we have seen with our own eyes, John?" Rachel said. "A week ago I would have drawn the line at the human race being turned into insane cannibals. How about you?"

  John massaged his temples. The conversation was turning a persistent headache into a raging inferno.

  "And this...creature," he said gruffly, staring at Nick. "Decimated an entire garrison. Killed everybody. Except for you. Why?"

  Nick flushed.

  "Look," he said. "I get it. It sounds crazy. I got away, because..."

  He trailed off, and his cheeks darkened.

  Here goes, Nick thought. The most unbelievable part of all.

  "I stopped it with a crowd control vehicle," Nick said hurriedly. "With a low frequency generator. It directs a beam of-"

  "Noise," Rachel interrupted, her voice tinged with wonder. "You stopped it with sound."

  Nick nodded, and waited for the ridicule that was bound to follow, but it never came.

  Michael, Rachel and John looked at each other, stunned.

  "Noise," Rachel repeated. "Just like we saw at the retail park."

  Even John reluctantly nodded.

  They believe me, Nick thought in astonishment. Hearing the incredible tale that had fallen from his own lips, he was not even sure he believed it himself. He remembered Drake. He had believed Drake existed too.

  And look how that turned out.

  "Fine," John said. "I'm sick of operating in the dark."

  He limped to the door.

  "Where are you going?" Michael asked sharply.

  "I'm going to get the girl from the market," John said. "Because we won't find out anything with us in here and her out there. Isn't she what all this was about anyway? Isn't she the reason that Darren's dead? And Gwyneth?"

  Michael stared at John.

  "John," he said. "I don't think you can do that. She is infected. We would all be at risk."

  "You sound exactly like him," John snarled, stabbing his finger at Darren's corpse. "We're all at risk right now. Right fucking now. And if this guy is to be believed, sooner or later we'll have fucking monsters after us that we can't even see. Who says whatever strain of the virus this girl has wouldn't be the only thing that could save us? I sure know I'd like to be infected with something that keeps them away if it comes to it. I'm bringing her in. Because she's a terrified little girl. Got it?"

  "John," Michael began, but John cut him short.

  "Michael, enough," John thundered. "I've had it with debating every fucking decision to death with you. You might think you're in charge here. Everybody else might be happy for you to tell them what to do, but not me, understand? I've had a lifetime of following orders, and there's a reason I put a fucking stop to it. Keeping that girl out there was Darren's way. Not yours, and definitely not mine. She's no less human than Gwyneth is, or was before you fucking killed her, and so I'm going to get her, and I'm going to bring her back. If you don't want that to happen, you'd better stop talking and start fucking shooting. Just make sure you don't miss."

  John left a shard of steel in his voice, but he knew Michael would not reach for the rifle. Even if he had it in him to kill John, there was no way he would do it in front of everybody. No way he would risk losing their confidence. If Michael had working legs, and wasn't totally reliant on the people around him, things might have been different.

  But you don't.

  John turned and strode to the gate, yanking on the lever that released the counterweight to lift the portcullis. It shot upwards with a grinding shriek of metal, and then John pushed the enormous door with all his might and stepped out onto the narrow bridge.

  He didn't look back as the door shut behind him. Let Michael maintain his feeble grip on control. John didn't care. He didn't want to lead anybody, but he would be damned if he would let them lead him.

  The altercation with Michael raged in his mind as he marched to the market, dominating his thoughts and blanking out the world around him. He barely noticed the bloody streets as he passed through them, and only when he reached the girl did the anger clouding his mind lift a little.

  She whimpered and started pleading with him as he approached.

  "It's okay," John said, "It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm taking you back, you won't be tied up anymore okay? Just hold still. If you make any sudden moves, I'll be forced to react, understand?"

  The girl whimpered.

  "I don't want to go back, please don't make me-"

  "The man who did this to you is dead. Nobody's going to hurt you," John said, grabbing her narrow shoulders firmly. "Trust me, okay?"

  He took his knife and sliced the rope away from the lamp post.

  "I'll lead you back, just say if I'm pulling too hard, right? Once you get back we'll get you cleaned up, I promise."

  John took the rope and led her toward the castle like a dog. He hated doing it, cursed himself for treating her like an animal, but even in his determination to defy Michael's wishes, he felt a faint stab of fear at the girl's appearance. She looked exactly like the Infected.

  He played the rope out so she wouldn't be too close to him, and led her to the narrow bridge, ignoring her increasing hysteria.

  For a moment he thought Michael would tell the others to keep the gate closed, but as he approached it began to swing open, and John felt relief flood through him. Michael had seen sense at last.

  When the gate was open, John found himself face to face with the man in the wheelchair.

  "I thought you were going to lock me out," John said.

  "You didn't give me much say in the matter," Michael said grimly.

  "I don't suppose I..."

  John trailed off.

  Michael's eyes were widening, his mouth dropping open, his hand lifting, pointing at something behind John.

  John realised what was happening, but it was a beat too late. He had taken his eye off the girl. Handed her the element of surprise.

  You should know better.

  He span round, but she had already snatched the knife from his belt, and even as John started to scream, started to throw himself at her, she plunged the blade into her own throat and sliced her life away.

  Time seemed to stand still as an impossible torrent of her blood poured across the bridge, drenching her chest, and then her frail ankles gave way and she collapsed to the ground.

  For a moment everyone beyond the gate held their breath, as though all the oxygen had been sucked from the castle. For a brief second John's eyes flicked from Michael to Rachel, and he saw
her eyes widen in horrified recognition as the sound reached them.

  It sounded like approaching thunder.

  Thousands of voices raised in unison.

  Humming.

  20

  "Shut the gate!" Rachel screamed as John hurtled into the castle, heaving the heavy wooden door shut behind him. She should have known, as she watched Michael and John butting heads, that things were slipping out of control. Should have done something to stop it.

  Michael wheeled himself to the mechanism that dropped the portcullis behind the door, and began to spin the handle, lifting the counterweight. It moved at an agonisingly slow pace.

  Rachel heard the first thump of the Infected on the wooden door as the portcullis locked into place, and began to back away slowly, staring at the group of terrified people standing around her. Bikers. Terrified young women who had fled to the castle when it all started, believing that they might be safe there. A couple of guys leftover from what had been Darren's crew, now just terrified boys.

  She doubted many of them had actually battled the Infected up close and personal, where only the blade of a knife and willpower would separate them from death.

  One of the bikers, the one with the crossbow, appeared in front of her.

  "Is this place secure?" He roared.

  "I think so," Rachel said. "That's the only way in."

  The man grimaced, and hoisted the crossbow.

  "And the only way out," he said grimly, and sprinted for the steps that led up to the battlements. Rachel watched him ascend, saw him take aim with the weapon, and then shake his head in frustration, and she knew exactly what was going through his mind. He had ten bolts for the bow. Maybe fifteen. Firing them into the mass of the Infected would do nothing.

  She stared at the gate, wincing as frantic blows rained down on it.

  The gate has to hold, she thought. Or it's all over.

  She saw the wood shivering as more and more of the Infected threw themselves into it, and she started to step backwards involuntarily. Again she stared around at the people standing alongside her. All seemed to be in a state of shock, and she realised they were all doing exactly the same thing as her. Staring at the gate. Praying.