Free Mutation by Chris Morphew

with Mum. Dr Montag wanted to give her the once-over after her fall yesterday. Make sure the damage isn’t any worse than it looks.’
    â€˜Oh,’ I said. My fist tightened around the strap of my backpack. ‘I think I’ll go down there and –’
    â€˜How much of that English homework have you done?’ said Dad.
    â€˜Most of it,’ I said.
    â€˜It’s due tomorrow, isn’t it?’
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜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 …’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Guess who just lost their job,’ she said.
    Dad put his hands around her waist. ‘What? Oh no.’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Good that the doc is playing it safe,’ he said unconvincingly.
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜What did they say about