Mutation (9 page)

‘Dad –'

But then I realised he'd just saved me from making a massive mistake.

The suppressor. Shackleton was watching.

If they really were doing something to Georgia, I wouldn't make it halfway to the medical centre before I got hauled off by security. And then she'd be in even more trouble than she already was.

Had to be smart about this. I took a breath. ‘All right.'

‘She'll be fine, Jordan,' said Dad, getting up and putting an arm around me. ‘It's a concussion at worst. And, hey, compared to our last few visits to the medical centre …'

‘Yeah,' I said, hugging him back. ‘Just give me a yell when they get back, okay?'

I went to my room, knowing Dad was more worried about all this than he was letting on. But as usual, he was keeping that to himself. Being strong for his family. More than anyone else, I wished I could tell him what was going on out here.

There was no way I was getting any homework done this afternoon, at least not until Mum and Georgia got back. I sat down on my bed and clawed through my bag for Mike's notebook.

Soft, black, fake-leather cover. Worn around the edges. Bulging in the middle where it looked like he'd glued in a whole bunch of other bits of paper. Elastic strap keeping everything together.

I snapped off the strap and started flipping through the pages.

It was a sketchbook. Page after page of drawings. A map of Phoenix mall, drawn on grid paper and glued in. Bits of the bush around Phoenix, but nothing I recognised. A few random sketches from around town.

But what really got under my skin was the people.

The same two figures, over and over again. All through the book. Sometimes male, sometimes female, sometimes one of each. But always in pairs. Always dressed in white. They were angelic, almost. But not wimpy Christmas-card angels with harps and halos and feathery wings. Real angels. The kind that strike you down in awe and terror.

I closed the book, suddenly uneasy.

Don't be stupid,
I warned myself.
They're just
pictures.
Just pictures that had arrived in my hands thanks to a time-bending supernatural vision.

Voices echoed up the hall from the front of the house, snapping me out of it. Mum and Georgia were home. I shoved the notebook under my pillow and rushed out to see them.

Georgia had sprinted straight through the door and was already stomping up the stairs to her room. Mum came in after her, shooting a weary look at Dad, who was walking down the hall ahead of me.

‘Guess who just lost their job,' she said.

Dad put his hands around her waist. ‘What? Oh no.'

‘Dr Montag wants me to finish up at the preschool this week,' said Mum. She sighed, moving past him towards the lounge room. ‘Maternity leave. He doesn't want to take any chances with the baby.'

Yeah,
I thought darkly, following them.
I bet.

But if this was the first thing Mum mentioned as she walked through the door, that had to mean nothing too weird had happened at the medical centre.

Mum crashed onto the couch and Dad sat down next to her.

‘Good that the doc is playing it safe,' he said unconvincingly.

‘Yeah,' said Mum. ‘And if I do only have eight and a half weeks to go … I mean, when you think about it that way, it's not that much more leave than I'd normally be taking. I guess it makes sense.'

Dad shook his head. ‘Nothing about this makes sense.'

‘What did they say about Georgia?' I asked, settling onto the couch opposite them.

But before Mum could answer, Georgia came bowling into the room, carrying a heart-shaped wooden box with a photo of her and Grandma set into the top. She'd got it as a going-away present right before we came here.

Georgia held the box out to Mum, fixing her with a stern look. ‘Remember, I only want green and purple and pink this time.'

‘Right,' said Mum.

Georgia plonked herself down at Mum's feet. Mum handed the heart box to Dad. He flipped it open and started sorting elastics, while she got started redoing Georgia's braids.

I curled up on the couch and closed my eyes. Clearly, Montag had been checking for more than just a concussion, but he'd sent Georgia home in one piece, so that one was less thing to panic about, at least for tonight.

‘It's good that you've finished feeling sick in the mornings,' said Georgia out of nowhere, breaking the silence. I opened my eyes.

She was looking up at Mum.

It took Mum a minute to respond and when she did, it was hesitant. ‘How did you know that, sweetheart?'

‘You just said it!' Georgia twisted up her face, like Mum was being slow on purpose.

Mum stopped braiding. ‘Georgia, I wasn't even speaking.'

Georgia turned around again and leant her head back, waiting for Mum to get back to work.

‘I know,' she said. ‘You don't have to anymore.' I had another look through Mike's sketchbook before I went to sleep, trying to figure out what it all meant. Trying to distract myself from worrying about Georgia.

Mum and Dad had let the moment slip past without any more comment, but I could tell the weirdness of it hadn't been lost on them.

I stared down at yet another pair of carefully sketched men in white, my eyes blurring with exhaustion. The longer I looked at them, the stronger the urge to check over my shoulder and make sure I wasn't being watched.

Get a grip.

I snapped the sketchbook shut and flicked off my bedside light.

Nightmares had been a part of life ever since all of this started. But tonight I had new enemies. Faceless, white-robed figures, chasing me through the bush. Hunting me. The figures flickered, real one second, hand-drawn the next, but always right behind me. I pressed forward, grass rising, trees closing in on all sides, and suddenly I was out over the lip of a giant, flaming crater. I tumbled forward, down into the bottomless darkness –

And then all of it was gone.

Solid ground under me. I was back in my room.

I opened my eyes, drifting up from sleep, trying to get my bearings.

Cold air.

Had I left the window open?

I glanced up at the clock. Just before midnight.

And then suddenly the clock flashed off, blocked by a dark shape slipping past in front of it.

There was someone in my room.

Chapter 10

T
UESDAY
, J
UNE
16
58
DAYS

The silhouette moved on, melting into the darkness of the bedroom, and for a moment I lost track of it. I froze, trying and failing to steady my breathing, disjointed images rushing at me. Knives and cold eyes and grasping hands and gunshots and pillows held down over my –

Shuffling noises from over near my desk. Barely audible. Whoever this was, they were used to getting around undetected.

I closed my eyes for just a second, trying to refocus. Only one way I was getting out of this. I eased out from the covers, slow and quiet, letting my intruder keep on thinking I was asleep.

More movement. There was someone crouched down there on the floor.

A tiny trickle of relief pierced through my chest. The figure was small. Or human-sized, anyway. No billowing white robes. Nothing glowing.

Not that there weren't plenty of humans around who were more than capable of doing me in.

The intruder rose slowly, his back still to me, stretching up to investigate my desk.

I pushed myself up into a sitting position, then swung my legs around and brought them down onto the carpet.

There was a tiny thud as my visitor accidentally bumped into my desk chair. I gasped, startled, then froze again, sure I'd just given myself away.

The intruder hesitated for a second, then gently pushed the chair aside and continued canvassing the desk.

I stood up and crept over, pausing after each step.

Three metres away.

Two metres.

One.

The figure straightened up, backing away from the desk. His head began to turn, but I was already jumping forward. I brought one arm down across his neck, the other around his stomach, trying to keep his hands down.

Then I saw the black hair poking down from the back of his balaclava.

Mike.

He staggered back, writhing and twisting, trying to jerk his body clear. Squeezing him tighter with both arms, I angled my foot around to kick him behind the knees. He stumbled, grunting again, but stayed standing, throwing his head back, trying to catch me in the teeth. I dodged left, kicking him again, and he finally fell, crashing roughly onto his knees beside my bed.

He grunted as the impact jarred his knees, and again as I brought my weight down on top of him, pinning his chest to the carpet.

Mike kept right on struggling. ‘Get – off, you –!'

‘Shh!' I drove an elbow down between his shoulder blades. ‘You really want my dad coming in here?'

Mike stopped struggling. ‘Where is it?' he hissed.

Keeping one hand planted firmly on Mike's back, I reached up under my pillow and brought out the sketchbook.

‘So Cathryn knows how to put two and two together after all, huh?' I whispered, yanking off the elastic one-handed.

‘Oi, careful!' said Mike. ‘You do anything to that book and I'll –'

‘Seriously, Mike. Just stop talking.'

I'd seen way too much real danger in this place to be intimidated by a weedy kid in a balaclava.

I held the book up to the moonlight streaking in through the window, opened it to a particularly detailed picture of the people in white robes, and slapped it down in front of his face.

‘Tell me who these guys are and I'll let you go.'

‘Uh, Jordan,' said Mike. ‘Kind of dark in here. How am I supposed to –?'

‘Shut up, Mike. You know who I'm talking about.'

His eyes dropped to the carpet. ‘They're no-one,' he said. ‘I made them up. What, you think there are real people who look like –?'

Bang.

The room flooded with light.

A giant shadow fell down on us from the doorway.

Mike swore.

It was Dad.

He stood there for a minute, taking in the scene. His fifteen-year-old daughter, pinning a masked intruder to her bedroom floor in the dead of night.

‘Jordan, who –?'

I scrambled up, retrieving the sketchbook from under Mike's nose. Mike got up too, brushing himself off.

Just in time for Dad to grab him by the arm.

He pulled the balaclava off Mike's face and stared down at him. That was not a stare you wanted to be on the wrong side of.

‘What's your name, kid?' asked Dad.

Mike didn't answer. He shook his head, flicking the hair back out of his face.

‘All right,' said Dad, pulling him in the direction of the door. ‘Well, I'm sure security will be able to figure it out.'

‘No, Dad, wait! He's not –' I bit my lip. ‘He hasn't done anything. Mike's just – a friend.'

Surprise flashed across both their faces.

But if Calvin found out I was having visitors in the middle of the night, it would be all he needed to convince Shackleton to pull the pin on my suppressor.

‘A friend,' Dad repeated.

‘Yeah,' said Mike, seizing the opportunity. ‘I'm really sorry, Mr Burke. It was stupid to come here so late, but I just – Jordan has an art project of mine that I really needed to get back.'

He glanced down at the sketchbook in my hand.

I scowled at him.

Well played,
I thought grudgingly, holding out the book. Dad came over and took it from me. He flipped through the pages, then snapped the book shut and handed it to Mike.

‘Thanks,' said Mike, moving towards the door. ‘Well, I guess I should probably get out of your hair.' He stared up at Dad's shaven head. ‘I mean –'

Dad stepped across to block the doorway. ‘This isn't going to happen again,' he said, crossing his arms. ‘Is it, Mike?'

Mike shook his head.

‘Good. Come with me.'

W
EDNESDAY
, J
UNE
17
57
DAYS

‘He walked him home?' said Luke.

‘Yep,' I said. ‘And this morning, me and Dad had a really fun chat about whether or not I'm ever allowed to have a boy over to the house again.'

‘And?' said Peter. ‘Are you?'

‘That's … still being negotiated,' I said, pretending not to hear the obsessiveness in his voice.

Mr Larson came past, dropping a copy of
The
Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde
in front of each of us.

‘You know, you really need to get some bars or something for that window,' said Luke.

‘Yeah, no kidding.'

Across the classroom, Mike and the others were deep in conversation. Mike kept glancing over at us when he thought I wasn't watching. He looked like he hadn't slept.

Had I really seen anything that incriminating?