Free Mutation by Chris Morphew Page B

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 –!’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜So Cathryn knows how to put two and two together after all, huh?’ I whispered, yanking off the elastic one-handed.
    â€˜Oi, careful!’ said Mike. ‘You do anything to that book and I’ll –’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜Tell me who these guys are and I’ll let you go.’
    â€˜Uh, Jordan,’ said Mike. ‘Kind of dark in here. How am I supposed to –?’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜What’s your name, kid?’ asked Dad.
    Mike didn’t answer. He shook his head, flicking the hair back out of his face.
    â€˜All right,’ said Dad, pulling him in the direction of the door. ‘Well, I’m sure security will be able to figure it out.’
    â€˜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.
    â€˜A friend,’ Dad repeated.
    â€˜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