SPORE

CHAPTER ONE

Mike knew this was something quite different. From the very beginning he knew it.

It was the speed with which it all happened, the speed with which it had gone from being some curious little comment he'd heard tagged onto the end of the morning news on the radio, to being the main item of news on the TV in the evening.

His ears had pricked over breakfast, catching those few words on Radio 4, the very last item of news, as he raced to finish his breakfast.

'...in Malawi. There's very little information as yet coming from the region, but we do know some sort of containment procedure is already being put in place...'

He tuned his Mum out, and his younger sister, Hannah, they were both talking, neither listening to the other. Mike struggled to hear the radio beneath them; he was sure he'd heard the word 'plague' in there somewhere.

'...no confirmation that this is an outburst of avian flu, in fact, we've heard that's already been ruled out...' And then the newsreader was off talking about foreign exchange and interest rates - the dull stuff that came on at the same time every day; 8.36am - the point at which he normally was just about finished with his breakfast and had to scramble out of the front door for college.

'Michael?!'

He looked up from his bowl of crispies at Mum, 'uh?'

'I said...don't forget to bring your sports bag home. Your kit's probably growing mildew all over it by now.'

'Uhm,' Mike grunted as he finished up. He pushed himself away from the table and headed for the hallway.

'Bowl, please,' Mum called after him.

He sighed and doubled back, picking it up and dropping it into the kitchen sink with a splash of warm suds.

'Good lad,' she said distractedly as she fiddled with the buttons of her office blouse. He squeezed past her, round the kitchen table for the hallway.

'Michael?' she called out again.

He stopped and turned.

Mum smiled guiltily at him. 'It'll be alright you know? We'll settle in this time.'

He knew she felt crap about the way things had been going; guilty about all the things that had happened recently...parent-guilt.

'Yeah, well...' was all Mike could manage in reply. He shrugged, he couldn't even manage to find some sort of half-arsed smile to give back.

'You've got friends already now anyway?' she continued, half stating, half-asking.

He nodded.

It was easier to do that than blurt the truth. The last thing he needed right now was Mum agonizing and stressing over his non-existent social life. He could do that well enough on his own.

Mike turned and headed into the hallway, grabbed his shoulder bag and jacket off the peg by the front door and let himself out. If he'd known that she was going to be dead, in a little over eighteen hours - no, not dead - gone - that this was one of the last times he was ever going to see her, to have a conversation with her, he would have at least handed her what she needed right now, a reassuring smile, something that told her 'okay, I'm pissed off with how you and Dad have messed us around, but I still love you, Mum'.

But he wasn't to know there wasn't much time left for her. Eighteen hours.

And counting.

The front door closed behind him.

CHAPTER TWO

Mike hated this place already. Seven weeks at Randall Sixth Form college, and he'd spoken to no more than a dozen of the other students. Coming in mid-year...he might as well have come in covered in human faeces; every little clique, every little gang was established and held him at arm's length. No one seemed willing to admit the tall dorky new kid with the funny accent into their little circle.