Mutant City

by Steve Feasey

  Rush nodded to himself. Turning, he left the cave behind him and hurried back in the direction he’d come, switching Tink’s torch back on as he went.

  Usually so cautious, Rush’s pleasure at discovering a possible way out, and his eagerness to let Brick know, meant he didn’t bother to investigate the cavern properly. If he had, he would have spotted the stark white animal bones scattered around the stony shoreline: bones of the same animals that had made the tracks in the passageway. Bones of the last creatures to visit that place.

  Zander

  Zander Melk stood looking down on to the world below from his top-floor office at the ridiculously high Bio-Gen Tower complex his father had had built. The place was a symbol of power and wealth, and loomed over the buildings around it. ‘Look at me,’ it said. ‘I can do anything.’ Zander reflected that it was precisely this attitude his father had adopted throughout his life. As CEO of the biggest and most powerful genetic-modification and robotic-enhancement corporation in City Four, his father had achieved an almost god-like status among the city dwellers whom he helped achieve ‘perfection’, and the man had delighted in the adoration and adulation. But the old man’s time had come to an end. It was Zander’s turn now, and he was determined to do things differently; his father’s harsh policies regarding the Mutes were no longer what the Citizens needed. Zander could sense the winds of change, and he should have been the man to funnel them in the right direction. Now that was at risk.

  The younger Melk’s elevation to president should have been a shoo-in. His father’s power and influence should have meant there was little standing between Zander and power. Each city elected ten principals to represent them, and these in turn elected one of their number to head the Principia, the body governing the Six Cities, as its president. There was only one man in the election against him, and the maverick media tycoon Towsin Cowper was hardly the most popular member of the assembly. If his father considered Zander to be liberal, he saw Cowper as someone who wanted to open the doors to each of the Six Cities and invite the freak hordes to come in and make themselves at home. But his father’s revelations had thrown an enormous spanner into the works, threatening to destroy Zander’s political aspir­ations for good. What had the old fool been thinking? There were strict rules governing the interaction of Pures and Mutes. Anyone wishing to visit the mutant slums outside the Six Cities’ walls had to apply for a day pass, and no mutant could set foot within any of the cities. And yet his father had deliberately created a number of . . . he struggled to find a suitable word . . . hybrids! If news of his father’s deeds escaped, the consequences didn’t bear thinking about.

  Now it was left to Zander to clean up the mess. Just as it was up to him to try to find a new way to deal with the ‘mutant problem’.

  The tower that these offices topped was one of only a handful of buildings tall enough to give a view over the city wall at the sprawling squalor beyond them. Even though the ghetto slums where the freaks lived were on the other side of immense steel bulwarks, the mere thought of the teeming masses out there was enough to make Zander’s skin crawl.

  The Principia, under the control of his father, had secretly hoped that deprivation and disease would be enough to see an end to their irksome neighbours. They should have known better. The Mutes had survived the apocalypse, and survived it ‘topside’. They were resilient; he had to give them that. And they bred, oh boy, did they breed! He grimaced at this last thought, unable to imagine a city dweller’s child being produced in that manner. Extracorporeal pregnancy had been the norm for many years now – children were grown in the laboratories of facilities such as Bio-Gen, in synthetic wombs to ensure they were exactly what their parents wanted, with no defects of any kind. Defects and deformities had no place inside the cities’ walls. Outside, it seemed that little but abnormality prevailed.

  They bred like rats, and their numbers grew and grew, and as this accretion went on unchecked, so the sizes of the slums expanded, creeping ever nearer to the cities like a cancer metastatically spreads towards healthy organs.

  Their own space, that’s what they needed. It was Zander’s plan, should he get into power, to set up reser­vations; land far away from the cities, designated for Mutes. He would incentivise the slum dwellers to move there, and possibly have to resort to other tactics to remove those who would not do so willingly. When he’d proposed the idea to his father, the old man had dismissed it out of hand, telling him, ‘Out of sight does not mean out of mind, boy.’ But it could work, he was sure of it.

  He turned away from the window, catching sight of the large metal plaque bolted to the wall behind his father’s desk. This was the original, though there were countless copies. Scratched and warped, with a big number four on it, it had been part of the door of Ark #4, one of six vast underground facilities set up as havens for those people who would build the new world following the Last War. It was from these arks that the Six Cities emerged, constructed above the vast subterranean complexes where the ‘Ark Children’ had lived for more than forty years while the world above burned and died. One of these bygone pioneers had been his great-great-grandfather, Zebediah Melk. When, in their thousands, Zebediah and the other Ark inhabitants finally emerged into the sunlight again, they were surprised to find they were not the only sur­vivors. Others had endured. Despite being bombarded by atomic, biological and chemical fallout, those left to die topside had not been wiped out. But they had been changed. The Mutes his ancestors encountered were far more freakish than anything around today. In fact, the vast majority of mutants looked almost normal these days. Sure, there was the odd ‘lizard skin’ or ‘web hand’ around, but not so many. Nonetheless, their DNA was screwed, and he agreed with the decree by the Ark Children – who after all were charged with creating the new world – that the two groups should never merge. The old expression ‘You can’t grow perfect corn if you start with bad seed’ was as true now as it had ever been.

  The mutant settlements were the only way to go – ship them out and let them have the ‘rights’ they were demanding in their rallies. Mutant rights? Who’d ever heard of anything so ridiculous? His plan could work. But first he had to be elected as president, and that meant erasing all trace of his father’s stupid mutant hybrids.

  Anya

  The wagon jostled along the path, throwing those on board around like rag dolls. The way through the mountainous region where Anya and her guardian, Kerin, lived was arduous and slow, but by taking a more direct route, off the recognised tracks and lanes, it was agreed they could make better time and avoid any ARM units that might be in the locality. This decision, however, meant Kerin would have to stay behind.

  Anya’s guardian had lost a leg a few years back, and it was agreed that the trip would be too much for her.

  Tink got the impression that neither the teenage girl nor the woman charged with caring for her were particularly upset by this decision. Their relationship had broken down somewhat over the last couple of years, and although there were tears shed by both parties prior to the departure, he was pretty sure they were both a little relieved to have some time apart.

  They’d been lucky with their timing. As they made their way through the foothills of the mountain that had been Anya’s home for the last thirteen years, they’d spotted an armoured vehicle high on a pass above them, climbing towards the cabin they’d left behind.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Tink said when he saw the worried look on the girl’s face. ‘It’s you they’re after, not Kerin. Once they realise you’re gone, they’ll leave her alone.’ He hoped so anyway. They’d agreed Kerin would tell the ARM that the pair had left, but say they’d gone over the mountains, in exactly the opposite direction to the one they’d taken. He thought the men might accept her explanation: that way was the best direction if you were trying to escape. Tink and Anya waited beneath the cover of the trees until they were sure the men were gone. Urging his harg forward, Tink, with Anya sitting on the jockey-box by his side, set off, d
etermined to put as much distance between them and the men as possible.

  A few hours later, when the pair found themselves in a patchy forest of evergreens, Tink brought up the subject of Anya and Kerin’s relationship, asking what had gone wrong.

  ‘She doesn’t like me changing,’ the teenager answered. ‘You know, when I shift into other forms? She says I shouldn’t do it.’

  ‘You can understand her concerns. If you were seen –’

  ‘Tink, we live in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Our nearest neighbour is more than ten miles away. All last year we didn’t see another soul until you came by just before the winter. Nobody.’ She gave a little shake of her head. ‘It’s easy to get a bit of “cabin fever” up there. You know, go a bit gaga –’ she made a twirling motion with a finger at her temple – ‘so I’ve been going out. Taking another form and getting away for a while.’ She paused. ‘It’s been causing arguments.’

  He nodded, but he knew there was more to it than simply what Anya was telling him. While they were alone, Kerin had spoken to Tink, explaining that the youngster struggled to transform back into her human form after she’d been out on these trips. She described how recently, after going out to investigate strange sounds in an outhouse where they kept their winter fuel, Kerin had opened the door to discover a nightmarish chimera. The creature was bluish black, with bright yellow eyes and closely meshed scales, so its skin looked like that of a snake. In form the beast itself looked more leopard-like. Long black canines hung from its upper jaw, and from the look of the blood on the creature’s front, they had been employed lately to good effect. The creature let out a tortured screech, its back arching high over legs held out stiffly before it.

  ‘Breathe, Anya, breathe and concentrate,’ the woman urged.

  The creature hissed back at her. Racked with spasms, it contorted wildly again and threw itself to the ground.

  And then, quite suddenly, the girl appeared in the cat-snake’s place, her hair stuck to her sweat-drenched face as she gasped for air.

  Kerin, not wishing to have another row, had just shaken her head, turned her back on the girl and returned to their cabin.

  Tink was still thinking about all this when he was suddenly struck with a vision. A gasp escaped him and he pulled the harg to a halt. Sitting perfectly still with his head angled slightly to one side, he kept his eyes shut as if he was listening for something only he could hear. Finally, with a sigh, he opened his eyes again.

  ‘What is it?’ Anya asked.

  ‘The road up ahead. The one we have to take? I think we could be in danger if we go that way.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what that danger might be though. If it’s the ARM, we need to change our plans again.’

  ‘And if it’s not?’

  ‘I’m not sure we have too many choices. We might have to face off whoever – or whatever – it is.’

  ‘Is this one of your famous hunches?’

  ‘Something like that, yes.’

  ‘So why don’t I go and check it out?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know, shift into something else and take a look.’

  ‘I don’t want you to put yourself in danger, and I don’t –’

  ‘Wait here so I can find you again,’ the teenager said. With that, she stood up on the jockey-box.

  ‘No, Anya, wait –’

  But he was too late. She jumped up into the air. Mid-leap, the pale, dark-haired girl transformed into a truly hideous creature that beat its wings and launched into the sky.

  Part-human, part-bat, but all ugly, the hideous pink-skinned beast had a humanoid torso with short frog-like legs curled up behind it. Its vast wings, also pale pink in colour, were translucent, so not only were the long thin bones stretching the membrane visible, but also the veins and arteries therein. The head was the pug-faced shape of a bat, but the large, blue, almond-shaped eyes that stared out from the face were decidedly human. When it turned to look down at him, the long, sharp teeth that lined its wide grin chittering, Tink couldn’t help but shudder. He watched the diabolical-looking creature as it rose up over the trees and disappeared from sight.

  The bat-beast soared back into view and stayed itself over the wagon with two massive downstrokes of its wings before dropping down on to the flatbed, its clawed hind legs scrabbling on the wooden surface for purchase.

  Turning in his seat, Tink could see how ungainly and awkward the thing was now it was grounded. Twisting and writhing, it let out a screech that he was sure meant it was in pain.

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ he asked. Although it was difficult to read the expression on the creature’s face, the way its eyes rolled wildly in its head suggested it was in agony.

  It may only have been a few minutes – it seemed much longer – but eventually, accompanied by one last terrible scream, Anya transformed back into her human self. She lay on her side, panting, finally looking over in Tink’s direction and giving him a shaky grin.

  Wrapping a blanket around herself, she sat up. ‘You can see City Four from up there. It’s enormous. Bigger than I’d ever have guessed. It’s all towers and tall buildings and glass and metal.’

  Despite his fears for her, Tink couldn’t help but smile back.

  ‘You were right,’ she went on, standing up and coming to join him again. ‘But it’s worse than you first thought. About eight or nine miles behind us – not far from the point where we forded the river – there’s an ARM vehicle. I think the water has done something to their engine; a couple of the men were looking inside it. I’m guessing they have the means to fix it, and once they have, they’ll be headed this way.’

  Tink sighed.

  ‘Up ahead, about two miles, maybe a little more, along this track there’s a group of armed men. They’re up to no good. I think they’ve already ambushed some travellers – they’ve got them in a cart like this one, tied up in the back.’

  ‘Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, eh?’ Tink said. He glanced behind them, the look on his face making it clear what he thought posed the greatest danger to them. ‘How many men did you see up ahead?’

  ‘Three, but I guess there could be more.’

  ‘It looks as if we have little choice but to push on and hope we can get past these ambushers without too much trouble.’

  He gave the reins a resigned flick, setting the harg off. ‘I’m sorry, Anya. I shouldn’t have let you do that. Kerin told me that you had been having trouble returning to your human form.’

  She frowned and gave a little shrug.

  ‘When we get to where we’re going, I think there’s somebody who can help you, someone who might help you control your gift.’

  ‘The person who spoke to me in my dream and told me you were coming?’

  ‘Yup. His name is Jax. Like you, he’s . . . different.’

  ‘What are we going to do about the men up ahead?’

  ‘I’m not sure just yet. It depends on how many of them there are. I hate to say it, but there’s a chance you might have to call upon your powers again before this trip is over.’

  ‘That’s OK. But if I do get stuck in the body of something like that bat-thing, I’m relying on you to tell everyone I wasn’t always that ugly.’

  Rush

  The promise that it wasn’t too far, coupled with another one that he could stop and hold the torch to his face whenever he wanted to, was just about enough to coax Brick inside the bowels of the mountain. He came along behind Rush, who pointed the dim beam of light almost straight down at his own feet, giving the big man something to fix his eyes upon. Even so, Brick was a gibbering wreck as they made their way along the claustrophobic fissure.

  Rush kept up a running commentary, talking about anything and everything to try to distract the big guy from thinking too much about their situation. When they passed the point where the little rockslide had occurred, he knew they were almost at their destination.

  ‘Smell that?’ he said.

  ‘Bad
eggs!’ Brick shouted, his voice unnaturally loud in the confined space. ‘Or Dotty’s farts!’

  Despite everything, Rush couldn’t help but smile. ‘More like your farts after eating that norgworm soup the other day!’

  ‘Ha! Brick!’

  Rush took a big sniff and screwed his face up. ‘Yep, definitely one of yours. We’re here,’ he concluded as they reached the entrance to the cave. He pointed out the gap in the roof. The light coming in was not as bright as it had been before, and they could just make out purple beard-like trails of lichen hanging down from the edges of the hole. ‘That’s where we’re going to try to get through.’

  They moved deeper into the cavern, Rush letting the light play over the far wall beneath the opening.

  ‘Look,’ Brick said, pointing to a ledge about halfway up. Thankfully it was suspended over solid ground, not hanging out over the lake.

  Rush said a silent prayer of gratitude. Maybe their luck was holding out after all. As he swung the beam back down again, the light fell across an elongated skull lying on the shore among the multitude of yellow and grey pebbles. He shone the torch around some more, casting the light over the other skulls and bones littering the place. Among them were smaller, rounder ones – skulls that looked decidedly human.

  ‘Brick,’ he said in a small voice, ‘turn around. We need to turn and go back the way –’

  He didn’t finish the sentence because the ground in front of him erupted.

  The monstrous thing that sprang from the sulphurous soil on the lake shore resembled a giant salamander. Wet earth and stones rained from its leathery skin as it rose up on two legs, towering over Rush and Brick. A huge orange frill – a fan of leathery stretched skin – opened out behind the monster’s head, and four prominent eyes blinked all at once as they took in their prey. The creature opened its mouth – a mouth lined with transparent, needle-like teeth – impossibly wide and issued a long shriek in Rush’s direction before spitting a greenish liquid into his face that burned his skin and instantly blinded him. He staggered backwards, and would have fallen had a snake-like tongue not shot out from the creature’s mouth and wrapped itself around his neck. He let out a strangled gasp as the living lasso yanked him forward, forcing him to stumble over the uneven ground. All he could think of was that vast, gaping maw and those glassy teeth sinking into his flesh. He could see nothing.