Horde (Razorland #3)(39)

“This is an unproven hypothesis, of course, but I suspect that an alternate evolutionary track was activated in their DNA. Some other animal in their genetic history took precedence, creating a divergent physiology, and since the pathogen was so powerful, it forced these changes much quicker than should’ve been possible in nature, occasionally with horrific results. Such a shift would naturally take millions of years.”

“So the world was poisoned,” Fade said, “and it made monsters out of some people and changed others, and a lot more died?”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

“But why is everything so broken?” I asked.

Wilson strained the leaves out of our drinks and brought them to the table. I made up my mind to sip slowly, so I could keep accruing information. I wasn’t altogether sure whether I believed him, but his account dovetailed with Edmund’s just without the religious shadings. Fade cupped his hands around his mug, and I wondered if he felt as overwhelmed as I did.

“After the quarantine centers failed, governments tried to protect their dignitaries. Evacuations of the wealthy, influential, and powerful took place in cities around the world.”

“Leaving Gotham empty apart from the people who were expendable,” Fade said grimly.

“Yes. They were left to fend for themselves without support or infrastructure.”

“Are those governments still out there?” I asked.

“To the best of my knowledge, no. The information I have comes from historical records. Those new enclaves fell in the chaos that followed, and new towns and settlements sprang up, populated by pockets of survivors.”

“Like Salvation and Soldier’s Pond?”

The scientist nodded. “Granted, since I have no way of communicating long distance, I cannot tell you what it’s like in other parts of the world. But if things were different elsewhere—and if they had the means—surely they would’ve made contact by now.”

That made sense to me. “How do you know all of this?”

“Journals. My people have always been scientists and they kept meticulous notes on everything that occurred, insofar as they were able. Would you like to see them?” When I shook my head, Wilson looked troubled. “I wish I had a child to whom to pass on this legacy. My wife passed and I never found anyone—oh, never mind. That isn’t why you came.”

In that moment, I saw him as he was, an old man surrounded by relics of a lost age, irrevocably lonely with only a caged Freak for company. He might be the smartest person I’d ever met, but he was also the saddest. I restrained the urge to pat his hand, thinking he wouldn’t appreciate it.

Fortunately Fade distracted the man from thinking about his dead wife. “I have a couple more questions, if you don’t mind. Unrelated.”

“Go ahead.”

“My parents both died of sickness in the ruins. It swept through and carried a lot of people with it. Was that one of the lesser plagues you were talking about?”

“The initial deployment was such a long time ago,” Wilson said gently. “So I rather doubt it. But there are a number of diseases that could account for it. What were the symptoms?” Fade told him, then the scientist asked a number of questions about their living conditions and the water they drank. “It sounds like dysentery, but I can’t be sure.”


Fade didn’t look as if it helped to have a name for what took his parents away. But it was good to know that our stories down below were so much rubbish—that the poison that started the problems had long since vanished, leaving the world to heal as best it might.

“Why didn’t I die too?” he demanded. “I drank the same water, lived as they did.”

Wilson shrugged. “Perhaps your immune system was better. Or possibly you were just lucky. Do you recall whether you were sick at all?”

Fade shook his head, obviously frustrated. “Maybe a little, but never as bad as my mother, first, and then years later, my dad.”

“You said you had multiple questions. What’s the other?” Though we were obviously nursing our drinks, I could tell the man was eager to get back to work by the jogging of his knee.

“The Muties … why are they getting smarter?” The moment Fade asked that, I wished I’d thought to do so.

Wilson appeared delighted with this question. “Again, this is an unproven theory, but I suspect the mutants have what I’d call genetic memory.”

Fade and I swapped looks, then I said it for both of us. “I don’t understand.”

“Genetic memory is when a species recalls everything its ancestors know, so with each successive generation, the offspring is a little smarter than those that came before.”

“So that would be like if I remembered everything my dam and sire knew, and their dam and sire…” I trailed off, overwhelmed by the idea.

“We shouldn’t have seen such a shift so quick, though,” Fade protested.

“Ordinarily, no. But the mutant life cycle is much shorter than a normal human’s. I suspect that’s the price they pay for their exceptional speed, strength, and olfactory sense.”

“How short?” I asked.

“Two years of childhood. Four to maturity, and they rarely live to be older than ten.”

“But … the ones down below didn’t change that fast,” I said.