The Mutation Breakdown

  E. S. Richards

  The Mutation Breakdown

  Book 1 in The Generation Series

  Copyright © E. S. Richards, 2018

  All rights reserved

  1st edition

  Ebook design by Papeair

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission from the copyright owner.

  To my parents, who gave me the confidence to start writing and to never put my pen down.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 1

  Zahyra stared from the window of the barely functioning shuttle bus she and her younger brother had found themselves on. It seemed to be only just held together by tape and broken wooden boards, accompanied by countless years of dust and dirt which lay thick on the brown perspex window frame. The dust particles irritatingly jumped up and into her nose with every bump and pothole of the weathered road the bus motored over and outside the few hours of sunlight they got each day were well and truly gone.

  In the cracked and dusty window Zahyra could see a slight reflection of herself: her skin a light shade of brown from spending her youth almost entirely outdoors. She had short dark hair, cut off just above her shoulders in a jagged motion, leaving several strands longer than the others which were starting to curl up at the ends. Her eyes were dark and piercing to match and although only young, held a lifetime of knowledge behind them from the stories Zahyra had been told by her mother and the camp elders. She had a slender build, padded out with muscle she’d worked tirelessly to retain by carrying heavy wooden planks around her camp, climbing trees or fighting and roughhousing with her friends in the evenings. Wearing black combat boots and cargo pants, accompanied by a pale green, very worn out sweater she looked just as normal as any girl her age could do. And she had been really, just a young girl enjoying her life before everything was quickly turned upside down.

  Everyone else on the bus with her was deathly silent, almost as if no one wanted to draw attention to themselves or really admit where they were. Deathly silent, Zahyra thought to herself, was really not a thing that existed anymore. At least not in the manner she’d witnessed death over the last several hours. An evening she was never likely to forget.

  It seemed so unrealistic that she’d sat down with her mother and little brother, Asher, no less than half a day ago for supper. Just as if it were the same as any other day. And it had been, for the most part. They’d shared freshly baked bread with their neighbours, dipping it generously into the rabbit and vegetable stew her mother had been cooking that day. Her camp had been so peaceful: ever since groups of Gen 1 and Gen 0 people – yes, people… at that level Zahyra still wanted to call them people – had started gathering together to form camps. Life had been so much easier across what had once apparently been known as America.

  Civilisation was alive and flourishing in those groups. Everyone did what they could to help one another and followed rules set out by the elders of each camp. These groups were supposedly safe from the pain and suffering that the more developed mutants caused outside of the camp walls, and were thought to just be left alone to live out their lives in peace. Until last night, of course.

  Swarms of Generation 4 and 5 mutants has stormed the camp Zahyra and her family were living in, the most advanced by far since the nuclear strikes over one hundred years ago that started all the genetic mutations. The mutations had started off so small and almost undetectable that no one could ever have believed they would evolve to the extremes she knew existed today. Now capable of causing people to become so out of control and so inhumane they no longer deserved the title of people. The world had been overrun with mutants instead.

  Zahyra thought back to the stories her mother had told her about how it all began, adapted from the stories her grandmother had told, and from her great grandmother’s stories before that. It was the year 2020 when the nuclear war broke out and within days half of the world’s countries had got involved, Only days after that the whole planet was in ruins. Missiles were timed to go off even after the soldiers in charge of them had been killed, and so it was that weeks of bombings ensued, wiping out over two thirds of the population and leaving the majority of the world uninhabitable.

  Those alive – or rather, those still alive after the bombings – were pure humans, genetically normal and unaffected by the nuclear radiation that enveloped the planet after the bombs. They were referred to as Generation Zero, and so Gen 0 became a term adapted for people who live now, but had developed no mutation from the nuclear radiation.

  Some of the original Generation Zero gave birth to slightly genetically mutated humans, with advancements so small they barely made a difference. This is why Gen 0 and those who still only exhibited Gen 1 mutations could live in harmony, as having such a small mutation was just like not having one at all. Gen 1 mutants exhibited things like advanced hearing, being able to see a wider spectrum of colours, or in the dark. But most importantly no Gen 1 mutants were ever deemed dangerous.

  One of Zahyra’s favourites had been an old Gen 1 man who lived in the camp they had just fled. His mutation allowed him to blow bubbles of water after taking a drink, and Zahyra and her brother had spent countless afternoons with the other children chasing after these bubbles, trying to make them pop water onto someone else’s head. The older members of the camp would watch and laugh, before gradually calling in their children to dry off and save them catching a cold. Zahyra however was too fast to be caught often, so was very proud of never having been called in to dry off. She was certainly one of the best at their bubble popping game.

  Sorrow suddenly swept over Zahyra’s face when she realised she’d likely never play the bubble popping game again, nor see many of the children she had played with. Although a select few of them had made it onto the same bus as her and her brother.

  It was the Gen 3 mutants and above which caused the trouble. Gen 2 were rarely bad news, and often lived with the lesser-developed mutants in small camps and settlements. But Gen 3 and above just seemed to be an evil bunch for the most part and would terrorise the lower ranked mutants just for fun. Last night this had turned to actual fear and cold-blooded murder, for reasons Zahyra still did not understand.

  Rumours had spread around their camp that the more developed mutants were becoming more aggressive, with the older male mutants beginning to exert more dominance over those around them. It was suspected that this was due to the mutants selectively breeding out in the desert wastelands, with Gen 4’s and 5’s only wanting to reproduce with another mutant of their level. This was obviously the reason why the mutations had continued to develop into more extreme things as the generations went on. In the early days of Generations 1 and 2, these mutants had deliberately tried to procreate with one another, believing themselves special and wanting to pass their genes on. In Zahyra’s mind, this had cer
tainly backfired.

  Zahyra had asked the old bubble man about the more developed mutants once and his response had been far from what she’d expected: shooing her away and refusing to talk about it, his face a chalky white as if he had just remembered something terrible. When Zahyra had later asked her mother about this, she was told the old man had been a nomad for much of his life, wandering around in the desert between the camps searching for his long lost wife – only finding refuge when he came across her in the camp Zahyra then moved into a few years later.

  Her mother refused to tell her about what kind of things could happen to someone forced to roam around by themselves, forced to interact with the Gen 3’s and above. But the look on her face said it was not something Zahyra wanted to find out. The last she’d seen of the old man, he was fleeing with his wife into the woods surrounding their camp, moving faster than she’d ever seen a man of his age be able to. Almost certainly dead now, she thought with a shake of her head.

  Last night’s group had been mainly Generation 4, with a few strong Gen 3’s and a smattering of Gen 5 mutants leading the charge. Generation 3 mutants developed more advanced mutations that Gen 1 and Gen 2, but on a similar level. This is why they were often used as scouts for hunting parties, with advancements like sonar and echolocation and the ability to hover a few feet above ground. They did also make very productive members of society if they chose to do so, but unfortunately, most were drawn in by the temptation of mixing with higher ranked mutants, rather than the lower generations that were involved in manual labour jobs.

  Gen 4 and Gen 5 mutants however were rarely productive members of society, with Zahyra recalling that even her mother had never witnessed a mutant above Gen 3 engaging in what she deemed normal life. No, Zahyra firmly believed that Gen 4 and 5 mutants were evil, and seemed to exist purely to create more damage and destruction in a world that was still far from recovered from its previous disaster. Last night had just proved this to her further.

  These mutants had developed skills like flight, and the ability to control water and air. Super strength was also a common advancement in Gen 4 and 5 males, apparently resulting from extreme levels of some male hormone, making them angry all the time and violent without relief. The most advanced of Gen 5 also had the abilities to read minds and even control what other people were thinking. But of course these were only rumours Zahyra had heard, as she herself had never encountered anything above a Gen 3… until last night, she recalled with a shudder.

  However what scared Zahyra most about the higher-level mutants is that just like the less developed Gen 1’s and Gen 2’s, they all looked exactly the same. According to old pictures Zahyra had seen in beaten up books from The Before Time, everyone today still looked the same as they had back then. People had more muscle and stood slightly differently, and of course no one now had the fancy clothes people back then had worn.

  But aside from that, so little on the outside had changed. It was just the insides that had mutated and become so unrecognisable – for the majority at least. This was why the branding everyone received with their generation number was so important, so people could tell straight from meeting someone if they were a threat or not. You were supposed to always have your number on show for this reason, but Zahyra hated this rule and claimed she often got cold, so wore her long sleeved green sweater that covered up the burnt in number on her right arm.

  As the bus trundled on through the darkness, Zahyra thought about the camp she’d left behind. It hadn’t been much, surrounded by woods on three sides, they had managed to build adequate walls to keep out the wild dogs and other animals that lived amongst the trees. One old building remained standing to the right of the camp which they used as the meeting centre, where the elders would often gather to discuss rules and the daily tasks that needed to be carried out.

  Zahyra’s hut, which she shared with Asher and her mother consisted of three small rooms. One where she slept with her brother, another bedroom for her mother and then a small communal area. None of which she would likely ever see again. It wasn’t anything special, but it had been her home for most of her life and Zahyra had grown very fond of the place. She’d felt safe there, and after moving around for the years before Asher was born it had been nice to have a place to call home.

  Thinking of her camp, Zahyra also thought of all the people she’d most likely never see again. The old bubble man for one, and his wife, Maritza who would make the children warm leaf teas on the colder evenings, and tell them stories about how the world apparently was before the bombs. She would tell them about all the bright colours the world exhibited, some even brighter than those with the colour enhancement mutation could see. Some of her friends didn’t believe this, but of course, it was hard to believe something you could never see for yourself. Although Zahyra liked to have hope that the stories she heard about The Before Time were real.

  Most of these friends Zahyra would never see again either, How strange after spending every day with them for so long, learning how to cook with them, how to survive off the land and her favourite lesson: the history of the world. Blake, one of her close friends back in the camp had a brilliant mind for history, and could easily recall exactly who had set off the first bomb, which countries had joined in in what order and how the horrible ‘end of the world’ had precisely gone down.

  Apparently the east coast of America had been attacked first, with some of the biggest cities on that side of the country wiped out in a matter of hours. America’s leader had then retaliated but – according to Blake – his coordinates had been wrong so he didn’t hit the country that attacked first. This then led to all the other countries getting involved, with more and more bombs going off all over the world until everything was reduced to ruin. Everyone was taught this history by his or her elders, with the hope being that making everyone aware of how easily the world could be destroyed would mean no one would ever do it again. Although, with the advanced mutants now roaming around in the open, Zahyra believed there were many other ways they could destroy the world if they wanted to.

  From the entire landmass that was America, only a small area in the southwest remained. What used to be Southern California was where the shuttle bus was headed, apparently to a safe haven where Gen 1’s and 2’s lived in harmony with Zero’s, far out of reach from the more advanced mutants. The only issue was to reach it they had to cross through what Zahyra had heard her mother once refer to as the Nevada Desert, a vast wasteland populated entirely by older, aggressive Gen 4 and 5 males; now simply known as the desert wastelands. This was where the advanced mutants apparently had camps of their own, but Zahyra highly doubted they were the nice sorts of camps where children could chase bubbles and drink leaf teas.

  Her mother had strictly told Zahyra before they were separated to stay on the bus with Asher and make it to the safe haven, always travelling south and west towards the ocean, where the sun sets in the evenings. Her mother hadn’t been allowed to board the bus, and had promised she would make her own way to the safe haven and meet them there. They would just have to wait a few days before she would be able to catch up.

  When the mutants stormed the camp, Zahyra’s mother instantly seemed to have a plan. She had half dragged, half carried Zahyra and Asher out of the back entrance and into the woods, the furthest point from where the mutants had entered. Although they were evil and aggressive, they weren’t very smart Zahyra had been told, and therefore had not thought to surround the camp, leaving them with an easy escape route.

  From the camp they had ran for about four miles through dense woodland, before pulling into an old building where Zahyra’s mother told her and her brother to be quiet and wait. Sure enough, this shuttle bus they were now on had arrived within an hour, and Zahyra and Asher had been loaded on through a confused and tearful goodbye to their mother. Zahyra had faith though. Her mother had said she would meet them at the safe haven and had trusted this bus to take the two of them there, so Zahyra knew they would make it
.

  There were about fifteen other children on the bus, although no one looked much older than her. Zahyra recognised three of them from her camp, but had no idea where the other smaller children had come from. She could only assume this bus had travelled around saving lost children, as it had stopped once more since her and Asher had got on to pick up two more young girls. Neither of them any more than twelve years old she thought.

  Zahyra was almost certainly one of the oldest, if not the eldest child on the bus. She knew this was because children often left their families by the time they were sixteen – as she was – and tried to start a life of their own. She had stayed with her brother and mother however, not only because her father had left them not even a year after her brother was born, but also because Asher was still not ten years old and had not yet begun to demonstrate a mutation of any kind.

  All genetic mutations revealed themselves by the time a child was ten years old, however the earlier the symptoms of a mutation were visible from, the more likely it was that the child would become a more advanced mutant, developing to the higher generations. Those children who developed mutation symptoms from a very young age often grew up to be the strongest Gen 4 or Gen 5 mutants. In many cases the parents tried to stop this from happening if they were lesser-developed mutants themselves – albeit often unsuccessfully. Stories of enraged young Gen 4 or 5 mutants killing their parents were not unheard of, and were something that caused Zahyra to shudder with fear whenever she thought of it.

  Asher was now nine years and eleven months old and had developed no symptoms of a mutation at all yet. This meant he would either be a very low level Gen 1 mutant, with some useless ability like the old bubble man, or he would be a Gen 0. Technically not a mutant at all, but a pure human.

  Unfortunately, the words pure human now carried more dread than joy with them, as higher-level mutants believed that the Zeros (as they were often colloquially referred to) were entirely to blame for everything that had happened to the planet and turned them into the mutants they were. Gen 4 and 5 mutants hunted for Zeros and Zahyra believed this was why her camp had been attacked last night, due to the increasing number of lower ranked mutants who had begun to seek refuge there.