Kymiera

by Steve Turnbull

  The change in orientation made her dizzy and she did not think she would be able to stand. Instead she crawled up the muddy bank until it turned into ice-caked sand. And she sat down again under the lee of the three-foot walls that led up to the wharf.

  Looking back she could see her trail in the mud and sand, barely six feet long. Just crawling that distance had exhausted her. She closed her eyes again.

  The memories of what had happened the previous night came to her. It had to be last night, otherwise she would be dead. She remembered jumping from building to building like some sort of crazed superhero. And throwing herself at a helicopter.

  Lying there, with the water lapping across the ice, she could not believe what could possibly have come over her to do such a thing. Perhaps it was the drug they gave her. She laughed again, as it came to her that she thought she could fly. But it had happened, it was in her dream, she had fallen until she hit something.

  She heard the coughing again. And, coming and going with the vagaries of the wind, she smelled burning wood. Burning wood meant fire. Fire meant warmth.

  Her body did not want to move.

  ‘I can’t do this.’ Her voice croaked as she formed the words so her ears would hear it.

  She thought of Melinda again, and the others.

  ‘I can’t do this.’

  Who was she trying to convince? Of course she couldn’t do it, but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t try. And then she swore at herself. She hated the logical side. She was not dead yet, said the part of her that always made so much sense. While there’s life there’s hope, said that trite and irritating voice.

  ‘Will you shut the fuck up?’

  It was almost as if the sound of her own voice woke her. As if, up to that moment, she had still been in the falling dream. But now she had hit the bottom, and come awake.

  ‘I have to move,’ she told herself in a voice that was barely her own.

  Using the wall behind her, she pulled herself to her feet, her muscles stretching painfully, joints cracking as they straightened.

  Looking each way along the wharf she couldn’t see a way up, but it wasn’t high, barely above her waist. There was no sign of movement except for smoke drifting up from one of the buildings and then getting ripped away by the wind.

  It was just as well she had become so light. The cold had drained strength from all her muscles but she was still able to pull herself up and roll onto the surface of the wharf. Here she was fully exposed to the biting of the wind. But she got to her feet once more and plodded steadily, if a little uncertainly, in the direction of smoke and fire.

  She staggered round the building once. The lower windows were boarded-up, every doorway filled in. It took a second, stumbling pass for Chloe to locate the entrance. A hole in the brickwork which, at first glance, looked as if it was filled with bits of broken wood and stone fallen from above, but it was betrayed by the sound of the wind gusting through it. Behind the disguised entrance she could see, in her head, a crawlspace clear of debris and easy to navigate. Chloe lowered herself to her hands and knees, and crawled inside.

  The wind must have changed direction again because it suddenly screamed through the buildings, providing her with a vivid mental image. The tunnel led a short way and turned sharp right. A man stood at the exit holding a stick raised above his head. He was clever, she thought. The semi-hidden entrance meant he could protect himself against marauders. But she was not a marauder; she just wanted to be warm. The threat focused her wandering mind.

  She crawled forward, not hiding the sound of her movement, giving no clue that she knew what was waiting for her. She reached the exit and, for the briefest moment, put her head out, then immediately pulled it back. The descending club glanced across her scalp. Without hesitation she grabbed it and, bracing her knees against the sides, pulled for all she was worth—which was not much.

  But the attempted blow had him off balance and her pull finished the job. He fell forward with a cry and landed across the entrance. Chloe pushed herself out, grabbed his nearest arm, and twisted it behind his back until he cried out in pain.

  ‘I don’t want to fight you,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, but I won’t let you hurt me. All I need is to get warm. I fell in the river. I need to be near your fire. Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ he said.

  The effort had drained her of all her remaining strength. She staggered away from him and dropped heavily into a sitting position.

  Chapter 2

  Mendelssohn

  Mendelssohn heard the car crunch on the gravel outside the house, so he was not surprised when his wife put her head round the door. He glanced up. She looked like hell, with her hair tangled and make-up smudged.

  ‘Hi honey, I’m home.’

  ‘Kind of you to drop by, Lily.’

  ‘I’m going to freshen up,’ she said, and stepped further into the room. It was gone ten in the morning but she was still wearing her clubbing gear. Which meant not very much at all.

  He put down his pen, leaned back in his chair, and stared at her. ‘Your studio is currently occupied. You have to stay in the house.’

  ‘Why, who’s here?’ she said. ‘Finally decided to move one of your bits on the side in?’

  ‘My dear Lily, you know as well as I do that I have never been unfaithful to you. It is a continual disappointment that you do not return the favour.’ He picked up his pen and made to go back to work.

  ‘So who is it?’

  ‘Business,’ he said without looking up.

  For a moment, she was silent, as if she was going to argue with him, but her sense got the better of her. He had made it quite clear that if it was business, then it was law. She left the room and he could hear her shoes on the parquet flooring all the way to the stairs and then up to the next floor.

  He sat back again. He had lost the flow. He dropped the pen and spun his chair around so he could look out of the window. The remnants of autumn’s fallen leaves were racing across the lawn. Despite the warmth of the room, and the triple glazing, the corners of the window showed frost inside the first layer of glass.

  He sighed; even walking across to the studio would be like mounting a polar expedition, but there was little choice. He headed out of the hall and equipped himself with quilted coat and hat. As an afterthought, he called for his car to drive him the couple of hundred yards.

  ‘So, can you play table tennis with yourself?’ It was Dog speaking. Mendelssohn mounted the stairs to the kitchen area and heard the question echoing back. ‘You know what I think, I think you should learn how to do sign language, and then we could all talk to each other.’

  Mendelssohn frowned. When Dog said ‘we all’, who exactly did he mean? He wasn’t just referring to himself, he must be talking about Delia as well. Mendelssohn suppressed the wave of anger. He knew, on a rational level, he shouldn’t be so protective, but when it came to his daughter he was not rational.

  He stepped into the kitchen diner and was glad to see his daughter wasn’t there. ‘You’ll learn sign language on your own time,’ he said.

  Mendelssohn looked at the new freak, Jason, and flinched. It was crazy. He’d seen, even owned, so many freaks that the reaction was nonsensical. But this kid, with that face. Mendelssohn shook his head. Maybe it was because everything else about him was so normal. Still, that was irrelevant. If the kid could do the job, that’s all he cared about.

  Dog jumped up from his chair and came over to him. That was another thing Mendelssohn didn’t like. Dog really didn’t have a very good idea of personal space. When he was being friendly, Dog liked to get up close and even touch. Mendelssohn knew he couldn’t catch S.I.D but, with his years of discipline in not touching anyone, he flinched.

  ‘You’ve got the plan sorted out?’ said Dog cheerfully.

  And that was another thing. Dog had a knack for knowing what he was thinking, and as someone who liked to keep his thoughts and feelings hidden, it was a talent he did not appreciate
.

  Mendelssohn went to the window; this place was not as well insulated as the main house, and he chose not to remove his coat. Instead he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs, sat down and crossed his legs. He looked the tentacle freak in the face, and saw that his eyes were blue. Such normal-looking eyes.

  ‘You owe me a lot of money,’ said Mendelssohn to the boy. ‘Buying you out of the cages cost more money than I would expect you to make for me in five years.’

  The boy did not react. Or if he did it was so fast it wasn’t noticeable. Mendelssohn almost had an impulse to check his wallet.

  ‘But if you’re as good as you seem to be, and you do a few jobs, then you should be able to make that money for me in no time. Do you understand?’

  Mendelssohn caught a movement in the corner of his eye. It was Dog nodding his head enthusiastically in an effort to make the new boy respond. Jason’s eyes flicked at Dog, and then back to Mendelssohn. He nodded once.

  ‘I’m glad we understand each other. I see that Dog has gone through your induction thoroughly.’

  He took off his mittens, undid the top of his coat, and pulled out a large envelope from an inner pocket. He opened the envelope and unfolded a map. It showed the west of Manchester with the River Irwell winding through it. There was a hospital marked.

  ‘We’re going to start with a nice easy job. All I want you to do is to go to the hospital and acquire some equipment.’

  There was a blur of motion and Jason was halfway across the room towards the exit.

  ‘Dog, will you reassure our new friend this will not be a difficult thing.’

  ‘He’s right, Jason. He wouldn’t ask us to do something we couldn’t do because you know that would be silly. But, honestly, Mr Mendelssohn, a hospital? Apart from the public areas that’ll be like Fort Knox.’

  ‘You even know what Fort Knox is?’

  Dog stood up straight. ‘Yes sir. I’ve seen all of the James Bond movies. That’s from Goldfinger, Fort Knox is the place that has all the gold in it.’

  Mendelssohn closed his eyes, counted to five, and opened them again. ‘That’s not relevant. The hospital will be receiving a delivery of equipment this evening, at around six. Depends on the traffic. I want you to acquire the truck carrying the equipment. Best to do that before it gets inside the hospital.’

  Dog leaned over and looked at the map. He reached up and flipped through the other sheets of paper underneath. There were more detailed maps, information about the truck, the shifts, and personnel. ‘We might need some minor equipment as well, sir.’

  ‘You can have what you need, within reason.’

  Dog looked over to where Jason still stood in the middle of the room, and then back at Mr Mendelssohn. ‘Jason was wondering what could be done to assist his mother?’

  ‘Do this job for me properly, Jason, and I will ensure your mother gets a better meal than she’s had in years. Keep doing the work for me and she’ll be very well looked after. I’m a businessman, I reward good work.’

  Chapter 3

  Chloe

  ‘You should take your clothes off.’

  The old man had built up the fire. It looked like he had quite a stock of wood, all piled up in neat rows. Sensible when preparing for the winter. She thought of him as an old man, but when she looked into his face she realised he was only in his forties. But his face was lined with deep wrinkles, and his hands were grey with ingrained dirt. His fingernails were black and broken. One of the reasons he’d missed her with the stick was the number of layers of clothes he wore. She wasn’t sure but there were at least three coats and three pairs of trousers as well as hefty boots and other layers underneath.

  And he smelled bad, of course.

  Despite the fire, she was cold and shivering, though, under the circumstances, that was probably an improvement.

  ‘You should take your clothes off,’ he repeated.

  ‘I’m not taking my clothes off,’ was what she tried to say, but her teeth chattered so much the words came out garbled.

  He looked at her across the fire. ‘If you don’t get dry, you’ll catch pneumonia and die. It’s no skin off my nose, but I thought I’d offer the advice.’

  It was strange how the refined quality of his voice was completely at odds with the state of him. She also knew he was right. But that really didn’t make it any easier. There was no point in being coy about it.

  ‘I am not taking my clothes off so you can look at me,’ she said controlling her trembling jaw muscles as much as she could. ‘I’m not going to be naked in front of you.’

  ‘Well, it was worth a try,’ he said. She frowned.

  He got up from the fire and shuffled across to a wooden box by the wall. It was raised off the ground on lumps of rock and brick. The box itself looked quite old and had a decent lock on it. He opened it, pulled out a blanket, and tossed it across to her.

  ‘I’ll not move from the heat,’ he said coming back to the warmth, ‘but I’ll face in the other direction while you get changed. Lay out your clothes facing the fire so they dry faster.’ And with that he turned his chair around so his back was to her.

  She had seen those tricks in the movies where people said they wouldn’t look and then used a mirror, but he didn’t have one. She shivered again. She really did need to get out of the wet clothes. Keeping her eyes on him as much as she could, she stripped down. Although when it came to her underwear, she hesitated.

  ‘Finished yet?’

  ‘No,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Hurry up. My toes are getting cold.’

  Chloe took a deep breath and peeled off the rest. The temperature must have been below zero but the radiant heat from the burning logs warmed her skin, and she was certainly grateful for it. She picked up the blanket, wrapped it around herself—it caught awkwardly on the lumps on her back—and sat down. The cold from the stone she was on sapped the meagre warmth from her behind immediately. She began to pick at the laces of her shoes which, being wet, were virtually impossible to undo.

  ‘I’ve finished,’ she said quietly, almost hoping he wouldn’t hear.

  Without another word he turned his chair back. He glanced at her face, raked the shapeless blanket that covered her with his eyes, and then looked back down into the fire.

  And there they sat for a long time. Chloe continued to pick at the shoe laces and eventually managed to untie them. They and her socks were added to the steaming clothes.

  Perversely, despite the temperature—and lack of clothes—she warmed up and the shivering got worse. She couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering. She wondered how long it would take for them to come loose.

  The man glanced up at her again. ‘Walk around.’

  ‘Are you a doctor?’

  ‘You don’t need a doctor, girl, you need a survivor.’

  ‘And that’s you?’

  ‘You seem ungrateful for someone who would be dying of hypothermia,’ he said. ‘Do you know how to build a fire?’

  She didn’t. Chloe tried to swallow but her throat was dry. ‘Sorry.’ She was acutely aware that if she got up and walked about, at some point she would have her back to him. And when that happened he would be able to see her deformity.

  ‘Well?’ he said. ‘Are you going to walk?’

  ‘I’m a freak.’ The words came out in a rush. She’d been planning to wrap it up in some fancy talk, and be apologetic, slowly revealing the truth. But when it came to it, the words fell out of her mouth.

  He lifted his gaze from the fire and looked at her with cold blue eyes. ‘It was either that, or you were a runaway. And, to be honest, I don’t think kids run away from home the way they used to. The world is too empty and too dangerous.’

  ‘Aren’t you scared?’

  ‘I’ve seen freaks.’

  ‘Of being infected?’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  She hesitated, but there was something persuasive about him. Or was it just that he seemed to engender trust. Why was he he
re?

  ‘Chloe.’

  He nodded. ‘Good. Only ever give the first name, unless you really trust someone. Names are valuable.’

  He had avoided her question and come out with some complete nonsense. Maybe he just gave the impression of being rational, perhaps he was crazy. What sane person would choose to live out here?

  ‘Why aren’t you scared?’ Her whole body shivered so strongly it almost knocked her off her seat.

  ‘I’m sure you can talk while you’re walking.’

  She stared at his face. There was so much hair from his head and beard it was hard to see to the skin underneath. It probably helped to keep him warm. It wasn’t even past midday, but the heavy clouds made it half-light outside, and even darker in here. The light from the fire’s flames flickered, casting thick shadows that moved.

  She was barefoot and her main concern was cutting her feet on glass or sharp stones, but the area round the fire looked safe enough. Making sure she had a firm hold on the blanket she got to her feet. The concrete floor around the flames was warm. For the first time she noticed the man’s fire was built up on bricks and rested on a curved sheet of metal. She wondered why. Although the radiant heat from the metal certainly helped to warm the air.

  ‘I’ll just stand here,’ she said. Her feet were warm and it felt as if it was moving up her body in waves.

  ‘You need to get your blood circulating faster. Walk.’

  She glared at him and then shrugged. She turned to walk off at a tangent, then hesitated again as she imagined how he would see her back. Oh well.

  She walked away from him, less concerned about him looking at the thin material covering her body than the two places on her back where she could feel the blanket pushed away from her skin. Now she came to put her attention on it, it was an unusual sensation—but seemed expected in some way. As if her new body shape was entirely natural.

  Carefully testing the ground as she stepped, she moved away. It was dusty and dirty but there seemed to be no large pieces of stone, or glass. She kept going until she could no longer feel the heat of the fire and turned round.