Variance - Book 1, Issue #14

Park Ridge, IL

Four months after The Rise

   The survivors lingered around the Variant’s body longer than any of them had wanted.  Annie was the only one who didn’t.  She rested against the splintered picket fence hugging her legs against her chest.  Tear tracks were visible along her dust-stained face.

   Martin knelt next to the Variant’s body and opened one of its eyelids.  The pupil was small and black and the iris was a supple green.  There was, however, a thin, discolored red ring around the pupil.  Martin released the eyelid and opened his pack, producing a syringe and a tubular vial.  He stuck the needle in the Variant’s neck, just below the jaw, and extracted a small sample of blood.  Martin held the vial to the sky.  Against the late morning sun, the blood seemed to shimmer, the vial almost glowing.  When Martin pulled it away the blood transformed back into the dark, rich matter so often seen when someone pricks their finger or skins their knee.

   Out of the light, the blood looked completely normal.

   But why shouldn’t it?  Annie thought.

   Because it’s a Variant, the other side of her brain countered.  It’s a rotten Variant that doesn’t deserve the same blood as a human.  It deserves black in its veins.  Dirty black blood.  As black as oil.  Black to accompany its black beating heart.  Black like the--

   “Did you say something?” Martin asked.  

   Annie looked up, startled.  Had she said something?  No, no, surely not.  “No,” she said.  “I didn’t say anything.”

   Martin nodded, but kept his unsure eyes on her.  “Let’s get going, we’ve been here too long.”

   Without a word of protest, the others gathered up their packs and headed east along Birchwood Avenue.  They would be to Chicago in a matter of hours and the sun would not wait for them.