Mutant City by Steve Feasey Page A

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