Mutation (Wildfire Chronicles Vol. 4) (8 page)

Once the six people that had escaped the bus station with him
had made their way into Caernarfon and saw the astonishing bloodshed, Darren knew for sure that the world had gone. Or maybe he had died and finally gone to hell; it didn't really matter. As they stumbled through the narrow streets, Darren had not realised that he was leading them to the castle until they stood right in front of it, and only then did he see a foothold, and a way to keep climbing.

When they had
secured the castle, Darren only allowed in those that he could see would be no trouble. There had been a few murmurs of dissent at first; pleas for an open border policy that Darren knew would result in chaos and power struggles. The protests finally died out when Darren had suggested that any one of the young mountaineers could leave if they wished and fend for themselves outside the walls. It had been as simple as that: staking a claim to leadership and seeing who baulked at it. None had been willing to meet the challenge he threw down.

After that, once Darren had set up the light to draw in survivors from the lands around the castle, he
had turned several away if he saw that they were armed or if they looked remotely hostile, aiming weapons at them from the battlements until they decided to try their luck elsewhere.

Only once in the week that they had occupied the castle had Darren truly felt like their position might be under threat, when a large group
that reeked of trouble had pounded at the gates insistently until Darren himself had taken the shotgun and blown a hole through one of them to show everybody that he meant business.

The
other group had departed then, spitting and cursing and hurling threats about coming back for Darren, but he hadn't been unduly worried. The castle was all but impregnable, unless someone turned up with explosives. Even then, Darren had a plan that would ensure that nobody would take his castle away from him.

That
first genuine
murder
had turned out to be the moment when everyone in the castle understood that Darren meant every word he said. He had not been questioned since.

But the guy with the knives made Darren’s skin crawl. The
manner in which he had moved when Darren first approached him; the smooth way he had lined up the knife to throw at Darren. The guy was trained. Military, maybe. That would have made him the most useful of all, if Darren believed that he could be trusted, but there was evasion in his eyes; defiance and threat. Darren couldn’t abide threat. Not
within
his castle.

Darren thought he could find a use for the rest of them; the young woman and the children especially, but that one? John?
Letting him inside the walls felt like a mistake, and Darren knew he could not afford mistakes.

John had to go.

Rachel
awoke first and grunted softly as she stretched out limbs that had seized up in protest at yet another night spent on a hard floor. Cold seemed to have seeped into her bones and spread outwards like an ink stain, until every cell felt as if it had frozen solid.

Castles, it turned out, had been cold places in which to live. If she was to spend another night in one, she would insist that the large stone fireplace that dominated the oval room at the base of the tower be used for something other than decoration.

A bed would be nice, of course, but it seemed like beds had gone the way of electricity and safety and sanity.

And Jason.

The loss of Jason ached like a fracture, and the more she thought about her baby brother, and how ill-equipped he had been to deal with the way the world was now despite his hulking physique, she felt a magnetic sort of sadness settle on her, and drag her down toward a deep depression.

There was no room for that in the world now, and Rachel knew it. Knew that Jason
had died to protect her, and that if she let herself fade away into self-pity she would turn that gift into something toxic.

She stood, sh
aking away the pain of the uncomfortable night’s sleep, and looked around the rest of them, still soundly asleep and some distance away from waking up to the same bone-deep ache she had encountered.

She glanced at the door, and for a moment she stood, debating with herself.

John and Michael would insist that she stay in the tower, obviously. That she wait until they were awake before she ventured outside. So that they could keep her safe.

They hadn’t done a great job of that so far, she thought bitterly, and then admonished he
rself. They had tried: both had done their best, but the situation was beyond anyone’s control.

And besides, since when did you sit around waiting for a man
to protect you, Rach? Who protected you from Victor?

The voice in her head sounded a lot like Jason, and her eyes shimmered
with heavy tears.

Rachel pressed her lips together firmly and
pushed the door open, stepping out into the cold morning.

Most of the castle was open to the elements. Only the towers provided any shelter from the weather. The rest of the building’s
huge footprint consisted of manicured gardens and the occasional ancient piece of machinery that had been part of the building’s life when it had been a tourist attraction, displayed for people to marvel at, back when humanity had time for such trivialities.

Barely more than a week ago.

The whole place was wrapped in a thick stone wall, into which were set heavy doors that led to tiny rooms that Rachel surmised must have served as cells once; and bare stone steps that led up to the battlements.

The
castle was a hive of activity: several women were in the process of tearing out the flower beds and planting what Rachel presumed were vegetables. Others were tending to a large pot that sat over a fire. A handful of men were struggling with wooden beams, putting together the skeleton of what would be a large wooden building that would take up around half the courtyard once built.

Rachel gathered her thin jacket about her and shivered, though she could
not be sure whether that was due to the cold, or the finality of the work she saw being undertaken around her. The people in the castle were building a community that they obviously believed would have to stand for a considerable period of time.

She hadn’t had much opportunity to think about the future: the hours since she first stumbled across the virus, hosted in the once-friendly body of her family’s pet dog, had been spent running for her life, or being tortured, or killing.

The battle with Sniffer seemed a lifetime ago; like it had happened to a different person. That much was true, Rachel thought glumly. She certainly didn't feel anything like the Rachel Roberts who had had stepped off the train at St. Davids worrying about how her parents might react to her losing another job.

“Sleep well?”

Rachel jumped a little. She hadn’t seen Darren sidling up beside her.

She ignored the question, and wondered briefly if she would ever have a use for small talk again. If the world would, come to think of it.

“Looks like you’re preparing the place for a long stay,” she said.

Darren nodded, his expression sombre.

“You could say that. I don’t really know what happened, but it’s been over a week. If there were people out there, government or army or whatever, I’d say we’d have seen them by now.”

Rachel dropped her eyes to the floor.

So it is the same everywhere.
Of course, she had known it must be. But there was a difference between knowing something, and
seeing
it.

“Did you see it happen
, how it all started?” Darren said, and the eager look on his face made something in Rachel squirm.

“I didn’t
see
anything,” she said bluntly. “There was nothing
to
see. Just normality one minute and chaos the next. I’ve seen
that.
Over and over again.”

“I don’t even know when it started, really, other than what I’ve been told,” Darren said
almost wistfully. “I was in the mountains. Everywhere was…like this when I came back down.”

“You’re lucky.”

Ah, there it was. Just as the word
lucky
reached his ears, a crack in the friendly façade. She saw Darren’s eyes narrow a little, just enough to tell her that whatever the man might say, he’d
seen
plenty too.

“Lucky,” he repeated flatly, as if the word was somehow unfamiliar
to him.

“To have found the castle,” Rachel said, and without another word she turned, and strode back into the tower.

*

“I’ve got no time for
liars,”
Rachel hissed.

When she had returned to the tower, Michael
was already awake. The others looked to be slowly circling consciousness, approaching it reluctantly. Rachel didn't blame them for that.

Michael shot a glance at the door
as she spoke.

“Keep your voice down,” he whispered. “So the guy doesn’t want to talk about it. Do you? I know I don’t. If he wanted to harm us he would have done it already.
We wouldn’t be able to stop him. They outnumber us, and that’s before you take the fact that only two of us could actually fight into the equation. If he was going to do anything, it would have been last night, wouldn’t it?”

Count to ten,
Rach.

Rachel breathed deeply.

“He can’t be trusted, Michael. You do see that?”

Michael sighed, and glanced at Claire. Still asleep.

“I see it, Rachel. Of course I see it. He’s hiding something from us, big deal. So did John. So have…a lot of people. Nobody trusts
anybody
and I don't blame them. When whatever that guy is hiding becomes a danger to me or Claire…or any of you, I’ll do something about. Right now his act seems a lot less dangerous than being out there with
them
. The best we can do is wait and see, okay?”

“I wasn’t asking for your help or your
permission
to do anything, Michael, and the next time you condescend to me…”

Michael
flinched at the unbridled aggression in her tone, and Rachel caught herself, just before the rage took over.

She breathed deeply again; let
ting the air out slowly, allowing it to leak from her lungs. Her heart was hammering. She looked away from Michael and locked eyes with Gwyneth. The old woman looked exhausted, like she had spent the night battling demons. She had problems of her own.

We all do
, Rachel thought, and felt the fire that had erupted in her nerves slowly being extinguished.

“Fine,” she said, and rose to her feet. “But I’m watching him, and you should too. Everybody should. I’m going to find something to eat.”

With that, Rachel turned and marched out of the tower, slamming the heavy wooden door behind her.

It was only as she left the tower and followed her nose to
the fire and pots of something that smelled delicious cooking over the flames that Rachel’s temper cooled enough to allow Michael’s words to sink in.

I’ll do something about it
, Michael had said.

I’ll.

Rachel stalked toward the fire, lost in thought.

She slumped down heavily next to the flames, and
a young woman stirring a large pot of what looked like vegetable soup.

The woman looked about the same age as Rachel. In another time they might have made small talk about the weather, or fashion, or whatever
topic was dominating the news. Probably they wouldn’t have talked at all.

But the world had changed.

“Is it safe here?” Rachel asked bluntly.

The young woman dropped her eyes to the pot, and Rachel knew even before she opened her mouth. Even before she whispered the words.

“Please help us.”

*

“Please help us,” Michael repeated. “What do you think she meant?”

Rachel’s brow furrowed.
Once again she had returned to the tower, and once again Michael was frustrating the hell out of her.

“Isn’t it obvious? Have you actually
looked
at the people here, Michael?”

Michael glared at her.

“Of course, and what about them?”

“There are twenty three that I’ve seen. Seven men.
A couple of them just young boys. Sixteen women. Most of them young, all of them scared to death. Nothing about that strikes you as a little odd?”

To her right, Rachel saw John’s jaw clench.

At least John sees it.

“When she said ‘us’, she meant the women. Please help the women.”