Mutant Chronicles by Matt Forbeck

Author:Matt Forbeck
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780345509758
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2008-09-29T16:00:00+00:00

27

Mitch had the worst dreams that night. He saw Nathan strapped down to a horrible machine, stripped naked and violated with nails and needles, boneblades growing from his arms and legs. Behind him, Adelaide and Grace struggled and screamed as the mutants tossed them onto the rack of their monstrous machine.

He knew he was sleeping—dreaming—but he couldn’t stop the images from coming, filling his head. He screamed for someone, something to wake him, but no one heard.

In his dream Mitch couldn’t move a muscle. It seemed as if every muscle had been strapped to an examining table that had been elevated so that he could see all the horrors inflicted on his friend and his family. He couldn’t even close his eyes.

As the machine began putting holes in Adelaide, he struggled harder and harder, but nothing happened. Sooner or later, he knew something had to give. He wondered if it would be him.

Mitch’s eyes snapped open. He lay on a bench in the same hall in which he and the other soldiers had drunk the night away. His tongue felt as dry as an old scroll found in a desert cave, and his head pounded from the morning light streaming in through the slitted windows.

Samuel stood in the doorway, surveying the soldiers and the self-inflicted damage they’d done. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but his words were firm.

“It’s time.”

A pair of monks scurried in after him with a meager breakfast for the soldiers. Mitch drank as much water as he could stomach and chewed on a bit of bread. The monks didn’t have much more to offer, but that was all he really needed.

Most of the others didn’t look much better than Mitch felt. El Jesus looked like he might weep at the first loud noise. MacGuire had to be hurting, but he still had the grim, officious look he always wore. Only Duval seemed like she might not be hung over, but she wore a private pain on her face instead.

After breakfast, Samuel spoke. “If you will follow me,” he said.

The game was over, Mitch sensed, and it was time to show his hand.

Samuel led the ten soldiers up through the monastery, with Brother Fredrik bringing up the rear. The monks they saw along their path scurried out of their way. Whether they were terrified of the strangers or simply didn’t want to interfere, Mitch could not say.

As they went, they passed a window that looked out on the postage stamp of a landing pad that sat atop the only level hunk of rock in front of the monastery, on the other side of a massive stone bridge. An airship sat out there, warming up in the icy cold, smoke billowing from its burners.

Mitch spied the pilot giving the airship a once-over while a monk on a ladder scraped ice off the craft’s windshield. The copilot, a serious man with a stiff gait, followed after him, double-checking everything.

Mitch wondered if the ship would be ready for them to take off in conditions like this.

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