Mutation

by Chris Morphew

  There was a dark shape painted onto the side of the building – a logo or something, almost as big as the building itself – but I couldn’t make out what it was. The landscape was still shimmering around me, too unstable to catch the details on something so far off.

  Stop moving, I reminded myself. You’re making it worse.

  I held my body as still as possible, squinting out at the concrete box. Slowly, the world began to settle down and, for a fraction of a second, I got a clear glimpse of the shape.

  A black spiral.

  And then it was over. The sky caved in and the land rolled up into nothing and I dropped to my knees with the violent urge to throw up.

  Down into the garden bed. I gagged a couple of times, fists clenching handfuls of soil, temporarily blinded by the sudden change in light. The sun was setting again.

  I got up, dragging my bike back onto the grass.

  The nerves came back and I felt myself sweating despite the cold. I still had a meeting to get to.

  I rolled the bike up onto the concrete, taking the narrow path that led between the hall and the aquatic centre, looking for escape routes along the way in case this turned nasty.

  I froze at the corner. No sound, but there was something flickering in the shadows.

  Light from a handful of tiny flames – like the candles in the cave.

  They’re just people, I thought, bracing myself. Even if it is the guys in white – They’re still only human.

  But what did that even mean anymore?

  There was a sharp stone on the ground a few steps away, about as big as my hand. I picked it up, getting ready to defend myself if I had to.

  I swung the stone up in front of me, leapt out from around the corner –

  And realised I was dealing with something completely different.

  ‘Peter?’

  He was sitting cross-legged on the ground with his back to me. He jumped at the sound of my voice, then turned around and grinned. ‘Surprise!’

  ‘What –?’ I dropped the stone. ‘Hang on. You left that note?’

  Slowly, my brain absorbed the scene. There was a picnic rug spread out in front of him, ringed with candles, and covered in food and drink.

  Food and drink for two people.

  ‘Jordan,’ he said, getting up. ‘This morning with Cat – It was stupid, okay? I don’t know why – But seriously Jordan, she’s not – She isn’t anything.’

  I glanced from the picnic to Peter and back again, nervous energy shifting into anger. ‘That’s what this is about?’

  ‘I wanted to make it up to you,’ said Peter.

  ‘So, what, you thought you’d leave me a note with no name on it? Freak me out completely? Drag me into the school right before curfew?’

  ‘No!’ said Peter, getting up. ‘Jordan, no, that’s not – This was supposed to be –’

  ‘Yeah, it’s pretty obvious what this was supposed to be,’ I said, turning my bike around. ‘Not interested.’

  ‘Jordan!’

  ‘You know Shackleton is watching us!’ I shouted. ‘You know how dangerous this all is! Why would you ever think this was a good idea?’

  Peter swayed like I’d just punched him.

  I climbed onto my bike, knowing I was only going to get angrier at him the longer I stayed here.

  He grabbed the handlebars. ‘Jordan, stop.’

  ‘Peter, seriously, just –’

  ‘I love you.’

  I took my feet back off the pedals.

  ‘Why?’ I said. ‘Why are you doing this?’

  He put his hands on mine. ‘Jordan, I –’

  ‘You don’t,’ I said, pulling free. ‘Okay? You don’t. That’s not what this is.’

  Peter pushed away from the bike, flaring up.

  ‘No? What is it, then?’

  I didn’t answer.

  ‘Come on, Jordan,’ said Peter, voice rising. ‘Tell me. Please. What am I really feeling?’

  ‘We should get out of here,’ I said.

  ‘Why?’ snapped Peter. ‘So you can go over to bloody Luke’s and tell him –’

  ‘Stop it,’ I said. ‘Just stop being a child for two seconds and think about where we are! It’ll be dark in like ten minutes. After what happened yesterday, do you really want –?’

  ‘Hey – you two!’

  Right on cue, a pair of security officers had just stepped out from around the corner.

  Peter swore, and started running.

  ‘What a surprise,’ I muttered.

  I turned my bike around again and pedalled away across the grass.

  Chapter 16

  FRIDAY, JUNE 19

  55 DAYS

  ‘So what do you think this is?’ Luke asked, as we lined up outside the gym for Dr Montag’s blood screening. ‘What do you reckon they’re testing us for?’

  I didn’t want to think about it. Georgia was still stuck at the medical centre, and whatever this blood thing was, it had all started with her freak-out at the mall. And the more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed that Luke was right, that all of this stuff was connected – and that Shackleton knew it.

  Which would explain the blood tests. The Co-operative would want to know who else was … changing, so they could deal with us before we all turned into Crazy Bills.

  ‘I dunno,’ I said, finally answering Luke’s question. ‘I reckon we’ll find out soon enough, though.’

  Peter just grunted. He’d barely spoken all day. I felt kind of bad about the way I’d torn shreds off him last night, but I still wasn’t ready to forgive his stupidity just yet.

  Thankfully, the security guards had given up the chase almost straight away, once they realised we were leaving the school grounds – which meant they’d probably just found us by accident, rather than being sent after us by Shackleton.

  Either way, trying to apologise to Peter would mean bringing up last night again, and I really didn’t see that going well.

  The line moved up a bit, far enough for me to see inside the gym. Montag and a couple of nurses were set up in little booths in the middle of the hall. Each booth had a stool, a bench covered with what I guessed was blood testing equipment, and a curtain that got pulled across the front while Montag and the nurses did whatever they did.

  Every now and then, there was a little yelp of pain from behind one of the curtains.

  ‘I hate needles,’ Luke whispered.

  The line moved again, and I nudged him forward. ‘Probably not going to be the worst one we’ve had since we got here.’

  We walked through the door. Mr Hanger was prowling around, supervising. He must have caught the bitter look on Peter’s face, because he stopped on his way past.

  ‘Is there a problem, Peter?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  It looked like it was taking all of Peter’s self-control not to lash out at him.

  Mr Hanger considered him for a minute, then continued down the line.

  I saw Jeremy, the kid who’d given me the handprint, standing up the front. I wanted to go over and warn him to get out of there. But what was the point? If the Co-operative really wanted his blood, they’d have no problem going to his house and getting it.

  I watched Jeremy step into the booth. The curtain closed, and it occurred to me that things could go downhill for him even quicker if his skin imprinted on the nurse’s hands. But before long, the booth opened again and Jeremy walked away, rubbing his arm.

  A few minutes later, we were at the front of the line.

  ‘Next –’ said Montag, pushing his curtain aside. ‘Oh.’ He waved me over to the booth.

  ‘Roll up your sleeve, please,’ he said in his doctor voice as I sat down.

  As soon as the curtain was closed, I jumped back up. ‘What are you doing to my sister?’

  Montag looked down at me, expressionless, like I wasn’t even worth reacting to.

  ‘Roll up your sleeve, please.’

  I didn’t move.

  ‘Do you think you w
ill put her in less danger with this behaviour?’ Montag asked.

  I sat down and rolled up my sleeve.

  ‘Stretch out your arm.’

  Montag picked up a black rubber ring thing and slipped it over my left hand, up to my forearm. He pumped it up until it was crushing in on my arm.

  ‘She’s six years old,’ I said. ‘You’re a doctor. You really have no problem with any of this?’

  He handed me a yellow stress ball with a smiley face on it. ‘Squeeze that for me.’

  I crushed the ball, and the veins on my arm started to swell.

  ‘Very good,’ he said, raising a syringe into the air. ‘Hold still.’

  I flinched as the needle dug into my arm. ‘Déjà vu, hey doc?’

  A flicker of discomfort in his eyes. He finished drawing out the blood and replaced the needle with a ball of cotton wool. I held it to the puncture mark on my arm.

  ‘What’s the matter, doc?’ I whispered, trying to keep my voice steady. ‘Don’t want to think about it? You going to pretend it was someone else holding me down over that table? Lifting up my shirt? Injecting me? That was only three kids, doc. If you can’t handle that, what are you going to do when Tabitha –’

  ‘You can take that away now,’ said Montag, holding out a band-aid to replace the cotton wool.

  ‘Ah, but you don’t actually have to see that happen, do you doc? You don’t have to watch those kids twisting on the ground. You can just hide out in that bunker of yours and pretend –’

  Too far.

  There was a clatter of equipment and suddenly Montag was latching onto my collar with both hands.

  ‘Let go of me,’ I spat.

  ‘Listen, you ignorant child,’ Montag breathed into my ear, ‘if you had any idea –’

  And then I did something really stupid.

  Not thinking about anything other than getting free, I flung out my arm and grabbed a handful of curtain, yanking it down hard towards me. The curtain tore, billowing down to the ground, and suddenly there was nothing separating Montag and me from the whole crowd of students waiting outside.

  Shouts across the gym.

  Montag recoiled, almost crashing into the bench behind him in his hurry to get off me.

  ‘Jordan Burke!’ roared Mr Hanger, storming over.

  Peter was still waiting at the front of the line. He rushed over, and the kids behind him followed, crowding in for a closer look.

  ‘What is going on here?’ Mr Hanger demanded.

  ‘What does it look like, sir?’ said Peter. ‘He was –’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to speak, Weir,’ said Hanger.

  Luke burst out of the next booth, his nurse trailing after him.

  ‘This young lady just tried to attack me,’ said Montag, quickly regaining his composure.

  ‘She did not, sir!’ said Peter. ‘It was him!’

  A few noises of agreement from the crowd.

  ‘Enough,’ Mr Hanger shouted.

  ‘With your permission,’ said Montag, ‘I’d like to escort Miss Burke to the principal’s office.’

  ‘Sir!’ Peter protested.

  Mr Hanger sneered at Peter, then grabbed me by the arm. ‘No need. I’ll take her.’

  Luke opened his mouth, but I glared at him to shut up. They wouldn’t do anything to me. Not now. Not after a bunch of kids had just seen Dr Montag’s hands at my throat.

  But then Peter stepped up to Mr Hanger, right in his face. ‘Let go.’

  ‘I’m warning you, Mr Weir –’

  ‘LET GO OF HER!’

  Mr Hanger turned away from him, leading me toward the door. The crowd parted to let us through.

  There was a strangled shout and suddenly I was yanked sideways. A jolt of pain tore through my shoulder as Mr Hanger went flying, still holding my arm. He crumpled to the floor and I finally pulled free.

  I got halfway to my feet and stopped. Peter was sprawled on Mr Hanger’s back, face spewing over with rage. He clawed at Hanger’s neck, grabbing it from behind, dragging his head up from the floor.

  A nurse ran forward. ‘Hey, kid, come on –’

  ‘Peter!’ yelled Luke. ‘What are you doing?’

  With a savage scream, he slammed Mr Hanger’s head back down into the ground. There was a horrible cracking sound and Hanger howled with pain. He lifted his head, blood streaming from his nose.

  More gasps from the crowd. Luke backed away, looking sick.

  As a teacher, Mr Hanger was intimidating. But he wasn’t young, and he wasn’t strong. He shouted and kicked, but it got him nowhere.

  My mind screamed, but it was like I’d forgotten how to talk.

  Montag raced up and grabbed Peter around the middle. Peter held on tight to Hanger’s throat, shouting out again, mindless and frantic. His head caught Montag in the chin.

  Stop! No, no, no, Peter, please –

  The doc fell back, losing his grip, and Peter smashed Mr Hanger’s face to the floor again.

  ‘Peter!’ I screamed, finding my voice. ‘Stop!’

  But Peter seemed beyond hearing. He was all instinct, all animal rage.

  ‘Please …’ Mr Hanger moaned. ‘Please, I’m sorry …’

  Montag and the nurse leapt forward together, grabbing Peter around the shoulders. Peter’s fingernails dug into Hanger’s skin, drawing blood as he fought to keep his grip.

  I charged forward, dropping to my hands and knees in front of Peter’s face.

  ‘STOP!’ I screamed. ‘Peter, stop!’

  Peter yelled out again, tears of rage streaming from his eyes.

  And finally, he stopped.

  His fingers slowly drew back from around Mr Hanger’s neck.

  Montag and the nurse hauled Peter to his feet. He looked at me, dazed, then down at his bloodied hands. Hanger lay there under him, taking deep, shuddering breaths.

  ‘They were going to hurt you,’ Peter said.

  ‘They still might,’ hissed a voice from behind us.

  Pryor.

  Chapter 17

  FRIDAY, JUNE 19

  55 DAYS

  Peter shrugged off Montag and the nurse, stumbling over Mr Hanger’s collapsed body. His face was white, the reality of what he’d just done starting to sink in.

  Pryor looked to Montag. ‘Get Noah,’ she said in an undertone, inclining her head at one of the blood testing booths that still had a curtain across it.

  Montag nodded and slipped inside, hand in his pocket. Pulling out his phone to call Shackleton. One of only ten phones in Phoenix that actually worked.

  I got up. My hands were sticky with Mr Hanger’s blood. I wiped them off on my skirt.

  The two nurses swooped down on Hanger, armed with a first aid kit. They rolled him onto his back, drawing even more noises of shock from the crowd. His face was a bloodied mess. Mr Hanger was the most hated teacher in the school, and I was sure plenty of these kids had fantasised about taking a swing at him. But the reality was something completely different.

  ‘All of you – out!’ shouted Pryor, scattering them. She glanced down at Mr Hanger. ‘How is he?’

  ‘He’ll live,’ said one of the nurses, ‘but –’

  ‘Good.’ Pryor’s attention flashed to Peter, Luke and me. ‘This way.’

  She led us out of the gym and across the field to her office.

  ‘Sorry …’ Peter mumbled, dazed. ‘I …

  I didn’t …’ I looked out at the town centre, my mind grasping for an escape plan. But running was pointless. One touch of a button and Shackleton could take our legs out from under us.

  How had this gotten out of hand so quickly?

  Mrs Stapleton was coming out of the front office as we approached. She froze halfway down the steps, eyes wide at Peter’s stained hands and spattered clothes. ‘Melinda –’

  ‘There’s been an incident in the gym,’ said Pryor. ‘Take care of it, please.’ She brushed past Mrs Stapleton and took us inside.

  Before we’d even made it to the giant steel door guardi
ng Pryor’s office, Dr Montag strode into the building behind us.

  ‘Well?’ said Pryor, swiping her key card.

  ‘He’s coming.’

  Pryor’s door clunked open and she ushered Luke, Peter and me inside. The office was the same as always: huge wooden table, rug on the floor, identical vases of flowers sitting on identical pedestals.

  Pryor heaved the door closed behind her, then bent down and rolled the rug up towards her desk, exposing the rough grey tiles underneath.

  ‘Shouldn’t be long now,’ Pryor said, her menacing veneer slipping just slightly.

  She was nervous. We’d already stolen her phone and used it to contact Luke’s dad on the outside. And now, a whole new mess had just arrived on her turf.

  Shackleton had to be losing patience.

  By the look of things, Montag wasn’t too excited to be here either.

  Good.

  Still, they both had a whole lot more chance of walking away from this meeting than we did.

  A sharp hiss of air cut through the silence, making me jump, and a section of the grey tiles began slowly sinking down into the floor. It dropped about five centimetres, then slid away to the side, revealing a brightly-lit tunnel and a set of silver stairs.

  It was a sign of how far we’d all come that they weren’t bothering to hide this from us.

  I heard gentle padding footsteps, and the withered form of Noah Shackleton came up through the floor to join us.

  ‘Good morning everyone!’ he said brightly, imitating the sing-song voice of a kindergarten teacher. He looked around, as though waiting for us all to respond, but the only sound was the tunnel hissing shut at his feet.

  Shackleton crossed the newly-restored floor, stopping toe-to-toe with Peter. I tensed, ready to jump in and defend him if I had to.

  A grin crept over Shackleton’s face as he examined Peter’s bloodied clothes. ‘Dr Montag tells me you were involved in a dispute with one of your teachers just now.’

  Peter didn’t even look at him.

  ‘Not speaking?’ said Shackleton. He pulled out a handkerchief and offered it to Peter. ‘Here. Why don’t you clean yourself up a bit?’