Mutation (Wildfire Chronicles Vol. 4) (22 page)

If only.

One wall of the room was a stone semicircle, the window just a slit. The kind that once upon a time people had probably fired arrows from. He was still in the castle. He swung his legs over the side of the large bed, and felt a stab of fire in his thigh. He pulled back the covers, and saw the deep gash in his leg. Someone had stitched him up. It wasn't exactly masterful work, and it would heal to leave another scar on a body that already told a long tale of violent encounters, but John couldn't complain.

The real question though, was
who
had stitched him back together. He remembered the fight in the boutique. Remembered Rachel appearing with the gun. After that, nothing.

Judging by the way his face felt like it had swollen up to twice its usual size, he had
probably been unconscious a while. When he pondered what might have happened in the castle while he was passed out, an apprehensive dread settled on him, and for a moment he considered curling up under the covers again, and trying to pretend that he was somewhere else. Anywhere. Even back out in the desert. At least there, he had a vague idea of what he was dealing with; what he was supposed to be fighting.

Turns out you preferred having someone tell you what to do, John,
he thought.
Whether they were idiots and arseholes or not.

He glanced at a dresser at the side of the bed. A glass of water sat atop it, alongside two small white pills. He eyed them suspiciously,
and was still pondering their possible effects when the door to the room swung open and a tired-looking woman walked in.

"Nice to see you up and about. John, right? I'm Linda. I'd say pleased to meet you but, well..."

She shrugged, and John snorted a chuckle that sent a wave of fire coursing through his head.

"Feeling's mutual," John said. "You the one that stitched me up?"

Linda's weary face fell. She nodded.

"It's good work," John said.

She smiled a little, apparently pleased. "I preferred being a teacher. And I doubt 'good' is the best way to describe that mess. It'll scar, I should think."

John nodded.

"I'm still here. Makes it good as far as I'm concerned. Thanks. Are these painkillers?"

"Yes," Linda said. "Strongest we've got for now. They have Codeine in them, might make you a bit drowsy. I'm afraid we don't have many
, so-"

"Keep them," John interrupted. "Likely someone else is going to need them far more than I do."

"You sure?" Linda asked, sounding dubious.

John smiled.

"I've had my arse kicked before, Linda. I'll survive. Speaking of which, what's the latest out there regarding our ongoing attempts to kill each other?"

Linda smiled despite herself.

"Darren's dead," she said, and her tone left John in no doubt that she was happy about that turn of events. "Sam and Jack, too. Jack's the one you stabbed."

John said nothing.

"And the elderly lady you came in with, she's dead. I think that about covers it. I hope she wasn't someone special. The truth is I feel a bit numb to all the death now. Condolences, I guess."

John waved the words away, and bit down on the sadness he felt at hearing the news.

I liked her, too. Fuck.

"How did she die?"

Linda leaned past John and picked up the painkillers, slipping them back into a small bottle she withdrew from the pocket of her jeans.

"Gunshot," she said, and noticed the arching of John's eyebrows. "It was quick. Your friend in the wheelchair, he had the gun. Darren tried to kill him, she got caught up in it. That's all I know, really. You'd be best off asking your friend. He seems to be the one in charge now."

John's head shot up, and he stared at Linda's face, his good eye narrowing.

Oh, really?

*

When Linda left to tend to her 'other patients' - she couldn't keep the sarcasm out of
her tone - John stood and tested his legs. The cut in his thigh had been deep, but he doubted it had done serious damage. Hurt like hell, though, and for a moment he considered dropping the bravado and chasing after Linda to get those painkillers.

He was on the first floor of one of the castle's towers, and the steps took a little negotiating, but as he moved, John felt the pain recede a little.

On the ground floor, he saw a mattress and the body of a young woman. He stepped closer to see if she was alright, and saw the nasty wound on her head that looked like it had become infected.

He wondered if that was what had killed her. It was a reminder, John thought, that there was not only one virus out there that they had to worry about. There were others, far older; hardened and evolved by skirmishes with the human immune system that had lasted
for hundreds of years.

Something else to add to the list of things that will try to kill us,
John thought. He wondered how many other unforeseen dangers were out there; dangers than humanity believed it had conquered, only for Project Wildfire to give them a new lease of life.

In the end, John doubted any of them would be as dangerous as other humans. With a heavy heart, he pushed open the tower
door, and stepped out into the morning air, with only one thing on his mind.

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.