Mutation

by Chris Morphew

  Calvin turned around again. He got the attention of a couple of officers and pointed out across the grass to where we were hiding. I saw Luke’s hands flash to the ground, ready to push off and run.

  ‘No, wait,’ I said. ‘It’s not us. He’s telling them to concentrate on this end of the fire. Keep it away from the town.’ I started edging my way around to the right. ‘We’re okay. We just need to get around to the other side before –’

  Crack!

  Luke shoved me to the ground, knocking me clear of the flaming branch that had just snapped off a tree above our heads. The branch crashed into the grass, sending a cloud of sparks shooting up into the air.

  ‘Thanks,’ I breathed, scrambling back up again.

  Peter rolled his eyes.

  But now the grass around the branch was starting to curl and spark. Any second now, this whole area would be up in smoke.

  ‘Here!’ called one of the guards. ‘Quick!’

  A burst of cold mist rained down across my face. Calvin’s men were right on top of us.

  I twisted around and started clawing away through the grass, forgetting all about being quiet, hoping the fire and the hoses and the shouting of the guards would be enough to disguise our escape.

  I definitely hadn’t dressed for the occasion. My shoes were slipping and my knees kept catching on the hem of my skirt. I stumbled again, almost crashing face-first into another rock, throwing down my hands just in time.

  Hang on …

  Squinting in the firelight, I saw that it wasn’t a rock at all. It was a hunk of concrete, flat on one side and jagged on all the others, like it had broken off something much bigger.

  Or exploded off.

  ‘Hurry!’ hissed Peter behind me, nudging my leg.

  I pushed the concrete aside and kept moving.

  This was ridiculous. We couldn’t just crawl around in the grass all night. I glanced back over my shoulder to check on the guards, then ducked behind the nearest tree.

  Luke and Peter got up after me, both looking like they’d much rather stay cowering in the grass. I waited until they were behind me again, then started circling around to the far side of the fire, keeping as low as I could, using the shadows to cover me.

  The fire crews were slowly getting the blaze under control, extinguishing what was left of our light. I dashed along from tree to tree, eyes peeled for some sign of Shackleton. I finally spotted him, twenty metres away, at the top of a little rise, crouching in the dirt with his back to us. He had his head down, examining something.

  I saw Calvin coming up to talk to him, jogging around in a wide arc like there was something on the ground out there that he was avoiding. Shackleton stood up as Calvin approached, and the two of them began talking.

  ‘Need to get closer,’ I said, straining to hear.

  ‘Too dangerous,’ said Luke. ‘We should go. Come back later when they’ve all cleared –’

  ‘Wait here,’ I whispered.

  ‘Jordan!’

  But I was already out from behind my tree and creeping through what was left of the undergrowth. Up ahead, only a few metres behind Calvin and Shackleton, was the enormous blackened shell of another fallen tree, still smouldering at the edges. I dropped behind it.

  ‘… report no unusual activity on the perimeter,’ Calvin was saying. ‘No air traffic, either.’

  ‘Come now, Bruce,’ said Shackleton lightly. ‘Do you really think that whatever did this came from the air?’

  Calvin was silent for a moment. ‘Sir, that’s – The ground was supposed to be stable!’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Shackleton.

  I held my breath, waiting for him to continue. But apparently that was all I was going to get.

  I crouched there in the ash, listening to the crackle of the fire and the spraying of hoses.

  It didn’t take long for my patience to run out. I stretched up a couple of inches, risking a look over the top of the fallen tree.

  Whoa.

  A giant crater stretched out in front of Shackleton’s feet, big enough to fit my whole house inside. Security officers skirted around the outside, fighting back the flames.

  In what was left of the light, I thought I could make out more hunks of concrete lodged into the sides of the massive hole. And there was something else too – a flickering light, different to the fire. Like something electrical, sparking.

  Calvin shifted his weight and I ducked again.

  ‘What do we tell people?’ I heard Calvin say.

  ‘Rope off the area,’ said Shackleton. ‘Tell them it was arson.’

  ‘Arson,’ said Calvin. ‘Committed by who?’

  Shackleton chuckled. ‘Who do you think?’

  Chapter 3

  FRIDAY, JUNE 12

  62 DAYS

  ‘Jordan! Jordan! Jordan! You have to get up! You – have – to – get – up!’

  ‘Oof!’ I grunted as a heavy weight came crashing down on top of me.

  Two little hands grabbed my shoulders and a mess of hair fell over my cheeks. I opened my eyes and saw Georgia staring down at me, face an inch from mine.

  ‘Boo!’ she shouted. She sat up on my stomach and started giggling.

  ‘Get off me,’ I mumbled, rolling over.

  ‘Mum says you have to hurry up and get out of –’ Georgia’s nose wrinkled. ‘Gross,’ she said, jumping to the floor. ‘You smell!’

  She ran out of the room, screaming down the hallway towards the kitchen. ‘Mum! How come Jordan stinks so much?’

  I rolled out of bed and took my towel from the hook on the door.

  I’d been stuck behind that fallen tree for about ten minutes last night, waiting until Calvin and Shackleton finally moved on to supervise the officers on the south side of the fire. We headed home after that, and I’d jumped straight into the shower before Mum or Dad had a chance to wonder why I was caked in ash and dirt. But apparently, that one quick wash hadn’t been enough to get the smoke smell out of my skin.

  I stopped on my way out of the shower and peered through the little bathroom window, into the bush below. I was desperate to get back out there, to get a proper look at the crater, but I knew that would be a mistake. For now, at least. Shackleton would be back at work today, back to monitoring our every move from the computer in his office.

  When I got down to the kitchen, Dad had already left for work and Mum was rushing around, trying to sort out Georgia’s breakfast and get herself ready at the same time. From the shadows under her eyes, I guessed she’d slept pretty badly last night. Again.

  The toaster popped just as I walked through the door. Mum moved to get it.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ I said, wanting to make myself useful. Wanting to remind her that I wasn’t a total delinquent.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Mum, turning back to take a bite of her own breakfast.

  Between the dramas with Mum’s pregnancy and being completely cut off from our extended family, things had been pretty strained around here for a while. And hearing that their firstborn had been targeted as a security risk by the Shackleton Co-operative definitely hadn’t improved Mum and Dad’s moods.

  Not that they wanted to believe that I was a thief and a vandal and whatever else the Co-operative was accusing me of – but at the same time, they couldn’t really understand why someone would just make all of that up.

  And I was refusing to defend myself. Not because they wouldn’t believe me. Because they would. Even if they hadn’t put their finger on it yet, they could tell that things in Phoenix weren’t adding up. Hearing that the Co-operative used me to cover up their mess would be all it took to push my parents over the edge.

  And that terrified me more than anything.

  I buttered Georgia’s toast and then put a couple of slices in for myself. I kept telling myself that one day, when this was all over, when Shackleton and his flesh-eating genocide weapon were both taken care of, things would go back to normal again. Until then, I could deal with a few minor domestics if it meant keepi
ng my family safe.

  Five minutes later, I was out the door. I rode the long way around the block, not wanting to deal with Peter accidentally running into me on the way to school. Subtlety was not exactly a strong suit for that boy.

  But he jumped between you and a loaded gun, I reminded myself. That’s not nothing.

  I rode towards the main street, skin crawling the way it always did when I passed the Shackleton Building. After a month of trying, we’d done nothing to hit back against Shackleton. Nothing to even slow him down. Every attempt just ended in more blood and nightmares, and that was before he realised what we were up to. Before the threats to our families. Before the suppressors.

  I didn’t even have my body to myself anymore.

  I knew it wouldn’t be long before the ‘news’ broke about our involvement with the fire. The Shackleton Co-operative would have an article ready for this afternoon’s edition of the Phoenix Herald.

  It’d probably be Peter’s dad’s job to write it up. I imagined him sitting there in his office, in that wheelchair they’d put him in, forced to keep poisoning the whole town against his own son. By the end of the day, they’d have arson to add to our list of imaginary –

  A wave of nausea flooded up out of nowhere.

  I stumbled off my bike and doubled over, cringing, knowing what was coming, holding my head in both hands as though that was somehow going to stop it.

  Please. Not again. Not n–

  Everything shifted.

  The sky turned black.

  Rain splashed down.

  The streetlights flickered on, casting glowing circles onto the wet ground.

  And everyone else in the town centre flashed out of existence. Vanished.

  But I wasn’t alone. Luke and Peter were suddenly right there with me, and –

  ‘It’s the baby,’ Dad shouted. ‘There’s something wrong with the baby!’

  He was supporting Mum with one arm, cradling a hysterical Georgia in the other. Dr Montag was crouched over Mum, hands on her stomach. Everything was jerky and blurred, like I was watching it all on a handheld video camera being operated by a five-year-old. The rain spattered down around me, but somehow it never touched my skin.

  Backwards, I thought. I’ve gone backwards this time.

  I’d been here before. A week ago, right after we left the Shackleton Building.

  ‘We have to get her to the medical centre,’ said Montag as Mum groaned again.

  ‘No!’ shouted a familiar voice.

  My voice.

  The world went even blurrier for a second, and suddenly it was like there were two of me. Another Jordan stepped forward, out of the place where I was standing. She stumbled towards Montag, exactly like I’d done a week ago, legs only barely keeping her upright. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes since he’d injected her with the suppressor.

  No-one else batted an eyelid as the two of us moved apart from each other.

  It’s all in your head, I told myself. A memory. You’re not really here.

  But it was more than that. My memory couldn’t turn day into night, couldn’t call rain down out of nowhere, couldn’t zap my mind out of the present against my will.

  Not before Phoenix, anyway.

  ‘Get your hands off her!’ shouted the me from back then.

  Dad shot her a bewildered look. Why in the world wouldn’t I want them to go to the medical centre?

  ‘Mrs Burke,’ said Montag, straightening up and throwing a hand out across the street. ‘Please, we need to get moving.’

  His sleeve pulled away from his arm a bit, and I noticed a mark on his wrist that I hadn’t seen the first time around. A number, scribbled in blue pen: 1308.

  Before I had time to wonder about it, Dad turned in my direction, thrusting Georgia into the other Jordan’s arms. The other Jordan staggered, the pain from the suppressor jolting through her legs, but managed to stay standing. Concern rose in Dad’s face, but then Mum cried out again. Dad hoisted her up into the air and took off across the street with the doc.

  The other Jordan tried to follow – but she couldn’t do it. It had taken Peter’s dad days to even walk in a straight line after his injection. No way was week-ago me about to go sprinting across town. She swayed on her feet, gritting her teeth in frustration, and I stiffened, knowing the agony she was going through.

  Dad glanced back over his shoulder, probably wondering why we weren’t coming after them. But then Montag called to him again and he kept running.

  Peter put an arm around the other Jordan, trying to help. But he was even worse on his feet than she was. The other Jordan shrugged him off and he almost fell over backwards. She muttered an apology and started patting Georgia on the back, telling her it was all going to be okay.

  Mum let out a scream. I glanced back and forth between her and the other Jordan, feeling the panic and the fear and the helplessness all over again. And then it finally dawned on me.

  Week-ago Jordan couldn’t go chasing after Mum and Dad. But maybe I could.

  I broke into a run, bolting away across the wet concrete.

  As soon as I started moving, the world blurred out of focus again.

  Dad and Montag were already halfway up the medical centre steps. I surged ahead, only just keeping my balance. The whole street rippled and smeared around me. It was like running on a waterbed. Then the nausea welled up again. I lost my footing and slammed to the ground on my hands and knees.

  Georgia broke off, mid-scream.

  The sun flashed on.

  The rain disappeared.

  The street was crowded with people again.

  I was back. Back in the present. Back in the real world.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, dazed, gagging but fighting it down. I could feel the beginnings of a headache creeping up from the base of my skull, but it didn’t seem like it would be as bad as the last couple. That was something, at least.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked a concerned voice from somewhere above me.

  ‘Careful,’ said someone else, a man this time. ‘It’s the Burke girl.’

  I stared up at the two of them. Suits and newspapers and coffee cups. Other people had stopped too, looking on from a distance. Just waiting for me to do something crazy and give them all a story to tell when they got into work. I blocked them out, pulling my bike upright again. A couple of security officers were coming over to investigate, and I really didn’t feel like explaining my fainting spell to them.

  I rode away in the other direction, thinking that I’d had enough enemies in this place already before my own brain started turning against me.

  I found Luke and Peter loitering at the lockers. They both looked kind of uneasy, like they’d just been arguing. Which probably meant that it had something to do with me.

  ‘Hey, what happened to you?’ asked Luke, eyeing the grazes on my hands and knees.

  ‘Nothing,’ I nudged him aside to get to my locker. ‘Just stacked it on the way here.’

  ‘You okay?’ asked Peter.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said, snatching up my science book with both hands before he could get a proper look at them. ‘Any news on last night?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Peter. ‘I mean, people are talking, but it’s all crap. No-one knows anything. And they’re not asking us about it, so Shackleton’s cover story obviously hasn’t got out yet.’

  ‘Pryor?’ I asked.

  Luke shook his head. There’d been no sign of her all last week. And after the debacle in the Shackleton Building where we’d used her phone to contact Luke’s dad, we thought it was pretty safe to assume our staff-student liaison officer jobs had been canned.

  ‘Good,’ I said.

  We started back up the corridor, weaving through the morning rush.

  ‘Hey, Jordan,’ Luke began, in a voice that was trying a bit too hard to be offhand. I saw Peter’s expression shift, and I had a feeling I was about to discover what they’d been arguing over.

  ‘Mm?’ I said.<
br />
  Luke hesitated for just a second. ‘You doing anything tomorrow night?’ he asked.

  ‘Huh?’ I said, caught off guard. ‘No, I don’t think so. Why?’

  ‘Mum’s having Montag over for dinner. I thought maybe you’d like to come. You know, to see if we can get anything out of him.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Yeah, sure, of course.’

  ‘He asked me too,’ said Peter quickly. ‘Can’t come, though. Got a family thing.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘Um, okay.’

  ‘No! Please!’ gasped a high-pitched voice from around the corner. ‘I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it!’

  ‘Should’ve thought of that before you did it,’ said a deeper voice.

  ‘Tank,’ said Peter, pushing through the crowd.

  I groaned. Now what?

  We rounded the corner just in time to see Tank’s enormous fist go slamming down into the mouth of a tiny, pale-skinned Year 7 kid. It was Jeremy, the kid they all called Ghost.

  ‘Stop!’ he begged, cowering on ground. ‘Please – I didn’t do anything!’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Tank, throwing a fist at Jeremy’s gut.

  A dark-haired guy stood a few steps away, next to a girl wearing half her body weight in make-up. Mike and Cathryn, Tank’s friends. Both looking stony-faced and not at all surprised.

  This wasn’t just some random outburst. They were all in on it.

  Jeremy was being punished.

  Whump!

  The next blow caught him square in the chest. I saw Luke cringe. He knew exactly what this kid was going through. Jeremy was starting to cry now. He tried to scramble away, but there was a reason why his attacker was called Tank.

  I’d seen enough. ‘Oi!’ I shouted, storming over. ‘Get off him!’

  Tank kept right on punching.

  ‘Stay out of this, Jordan,’ said Mike, glaring at me from behind his sunglasses. He moved between me and the beating. ‘Not your fight.’

  ‘It is now,’ I muttered, shoving past and gripping Tank’s shoulders with both hands. I pulled him back hard. He took a couple of stumbling steps backwards, and then twisted around, trying to claw me off.

  ‘Let go of me, you dumb b–’