                Attack of the Mutant Horde



                         Fin Fahey



Jerry had discovered the Kao-An's deadly cargo three days

ago. As a biochemist attached to the Trinidadian govern-

ment, he was on a mission to study the after-effects of

Agent Green on the dying jungles of Venezuala - the nation

that had been all but wiped out in the Oil Skirmish of '93.

He had decided to calibrate his equipment and had chanced

to open the wrong crate. Precision-guided munitions...

ground-to-air, ground-to-ground, the lot - some of the

weapons nuclear-tipped, all of them deadly. Which of the

several belligerent governments in the Caribbean had

ordered the stuff, Jerry could only guess at from the

nationalities of the Kao-An's crew.

  It soon became clear that they sensed that he knew some-

thing. Collier, the cocky little Australian mate, had

stopped cracking jokes in his presence. The grossly fat

Captain Beesley, who appeared to live entirely on chocolate

bars, began to direct menacing glances at him, while the

big Afrikaaner, Witter, had taken to eyeing him specula-

tively while stroking the butt of the old Mauser automatic

he always carried. When Jerry's carefully placed bugs

revealed the extent of their plans for him, he moved fast.

He felt no bitterness towards the crew - after, all few

people in this last decade of the millennium were not

involved in the War - but he'd seen enough co-destruction

not to wish any more on an already devastated continent.

  After setting the shaped charges and collecting equipment

and provisions, he'd slipped overboard in a small dinghy,

to make for one of the small tropical islands visible on

the horizon. The old tramp steamer had gone up when he was

little more than half-way. From the violence of the detona-

tions, it seemed likely that the crew never had a chance.

Jerry shook his head pityingly. He was thankful that none

of the nukes had seen fit to go off.

  He turned away and, bending his back to the oars, con-

tinued to appraise the island looming up ahead. Like most

of the once lush tropical land in the region, it had

suffered. Something had removed most of the tree cover, the

pathetic remnants of which stood out as tufts silhouetted

against the sky. Jerry patted the Geiger counter at his

side with a worried look. The black polymer radiation suit

he wore was proof against most things, but not for ever. He

was hoping that his radio signals were picked up within the

week - and then - well, almost everyone needs biochemists,

and that was only one of his skills.

  After what seemed an eternity of rowing he staggered

ashore and dragged out his detector kit. Neither the air

nor earth in his immediate vicinity contained any of the

agents of death currently fashionable, so Jerry ripped off

his mask and collapsed gratefully onto the pebbly beach.

The stress of the last few days, coupled with his recent

exertions, had told, for he slept deeply and woke to find a

swollen sun rising balefully through smoggy clouds.

  There was no sign of the Kao-An - she'd evidently gone

down during the night. Jerry activated the automatic dis-

tress transmitter and began to evaluatet his surroundings.

The tide lapping at his feet bore a chemical scum, the

detritus of industry and war. The air was acrid with a

faint hint of decay. No birds sang, no insects buzzed.

Sniffing, he gazed inland. The scraggy abused-looking tree-

line hardly seemed inviting; still, he would have to check

it out.

  Jerry wandered through the scarred palm trees, warily

checking his detectors, nerves on edge. Huge areas of

jungle had been replaced by patches of barren, wind-stirred

dust. Like a corpse, he thought, the bones protruding

through the decaying flesh. Here and there shrubby vegeta-

tion sought to regain a foothold - in time, perhaps, the

island would recover. If left alone, he thought bitterly.

The Geiger emitted an agonised squawk. Checking the read-

out, Jerry found the background radiation count increasing

as he moved inland. Abruptly the trees gave way to a sheet

of lucent green glass, shimmering in the morning sun. The

soil itself had been fused by thermonuclear heat. A test?

he wondered... or had there been fighting here, and if so

what over? Shrugging, he moved on, skirting the zone of

worst radiation.

  He became aware of a distant throbbing - drum beat -

heart beat? Remembering old Caribbean voodoo tales, he told

himself his imagination was playing tricks. He shook his

head and certainly the sinister pulsation seemed to have

stopped. No one after all could have survived in this place

of death. Breasting a shallow rise, he found himself on the

edge of a plain packed with many shallow depressions each

about ten feet in diameter. About to return to the beach he

froze in his tracks - the throbbing bass note had returned.

It seemed to be emitted by the depressions. Investigating,

he found that each one was inhabited, not by shadow, but by

a glistening, oily black mass, which simmered and boiled

with a furious activity. Every now and then the puddles

would pulsate in unision, producing the strange drum beat.

Jerry squatted by a particularly large hole towards the

centre of the plain.

  The air was steamy, chemical-laced. He took samples and

checked the temperature of the stuff - about blood heat.

Oil probably, he thought, released by the nearby nuclear

detonation. Presumably some sort of low-level volcanic

heat had also been released, and this was stimulating the

activity. But... the crude oil shouldn't boil at blood

temperature! As he contemplated the enigmatic pool, he

realised that its matt surface had altered - it was now

reflecting his features. He blinked, and felt a shock of

fear - it was no reflection. A human face was emerging

from the fluid!

  Jerry drew back in horror as an entire human head

appeared above the surface, to fix him with an unblinking

oily gaze. Panicking, he swivelled to run, only to find

that by many of the black pools stood human shapes. Or per-

haps humanoid, he hastily corrected himself. For examining

the nearest of the beings, Jerry realised that it was a

caricature of his own form, right down to the detector kit

clutched in the right hand. Only - the equipment and the

hand formed a seamless whole. Mimesis! thought Jerry - he

grasped at the word, needing an explanation to bolster his

sanity - the ability of some living things to imitate their

surroundings.

  The mass beat intensified until Jerry felt his head would

burst, and then, as though activated by a common signal,

the creatures began to shuffle towards him, faces writhing

in an obscene travesty of human expression. Zombies! Jerry

thought, remembering his voodoo - he half expected the

monstrous Baron Samedi, Lord of the Undead, to come leaping

and cavorting across the plain to reap his soul.

  With a cry Jerry unfroze. He ran, twisting and turning

between the puddles in a deadly game of tag. He was fast,

but the zombies had numbers on their side. Sweating and

panting, he found himself hemmed in, a puddle behind, three

of the things approaching from different directions. It

suddenly seemed, however, that there were fewer zombies

than before. As he watched, one of them disappeared into a

puddle. There was a series of sickening gurgling sounds and

the puddle boiled furiously, finally lying still as though

satiated.

  Straight lines! he thought - they only travel in straight

lines! Like heat-seeking missiles, the mutants' only

imperative was to home in on Jerry, their prototype. Jerry

dodged around the nearest puddle and began to move towards

the edge of the desolate plain, keeping puddles between

himself and the zombies. He had one or two close shaves,

but by the time he reached the jungle edge, all the things

had disappeared. He stopped to catch his breath, and seeing

no further signs of life, trudged back to the beach.

  He spent a fitful night there, his dreams haunted by

monstrous mutant beings, but the next day he was picked up

by a Panamanian hydrofoil. The crew laughed at his story -

they were a hard-headed lot, returning from a search-and-

destroy sweep against pirates, now enjoying a come-back in

the Caribbean. They were happy to put him ashore at Panama

City - since the demise of the Northern Hemisphere, techni-

cal expertise was in short supply. Only then did Jerry seek

to understand his experience in depth.

  When analysed, the samples he had taken proved to be

full of chemical structures resembling RNA, the 'memory

molecule' of living cells. There were, however, no cell

membranes. Whatever was on the island resembled a giant

amoeba - one huge living cell, permeating the geological

structure of the whole island. What hellish interaction of

hard radiation, war chemicals, and Caribbean crude had

spawned the monster, it was impossible to guess, but there

was no opportunity for further study.

  By the time Jerry had convinced the Panamanians of the

need for an expedition, the island, and in fact the entire

northern seaboard of South America, had disappeared when

the Indonesians demonstrated the Earthquake Bomb, thereby

ending The War. For a while Jerry was glum - he'd thought

of a thousand industrial uses for a mimetic life-form.

Finally calmed by the tranquilities of post-war life, he

found other matters to divert him.



  Game Instructions



To play Mutant Horde you must first enter a number to

randomise the game, always ensuring it's different. [Well,

you used to have to. The Spectrum has a RANDOMIZE command

which seems to have escaped the author, and I've replaced

the randomising loop with this command. It's still there

if, for some unholy reason, anyone wants it, but it gets

skipped.] Within the square island, Mutants are shown as

"M", Puddles as "O", and you, Jerry Cornwall, as "*". To

move you must use the following keys:



              E

            W | R

             \|/

          S---*---D

             /|\

            Z | C

              X



  When you have moved, it is the Mutants' turn. You may be

killed by falling into the ocean or a puddle, or by an

encounter with a Mutant. You win when all the Mutants have

fallen, and you now may go on to another game. Good luck.