The Alpha Plague 7

by Michael Robertson

  Once the room had settled down, Flynn said, “So what happens at twenty?”

  Although One looked at him, she didn’t reply.

  “I thought you might have worked it out by now,” he said, “being here for as long as you have.”

  One shrugged. “They don’t tell you much down here.”

  Flynn shifted against the pain of his burn.

  “What I can tell you,” she said, “is the person who runs this place is a complete fucking lunatic.”

  “He is?”

  “She,” she said. “She. And yes, she’s fucking insane.”

  Tired, in pain, and sweating from the heat of the room, Flynn closed his eyes and leaned his head against the hard wall behind him. It had been a long fucking day. After he let out a deep sigh, any desire to continue talking left him.

  Chapter Twenty

  One and Flynn hadn’t spoken since he’d closed his eyes. And maybe he would have remained that way were it not for the snap of the lock on the prison cell’s door. He opened his eyes to watch four guards walk in, much like they’d done with him. Although, they didn’t kick either Eighteen or Nineteen in the face. He nearly said something as he watched the guards drag the women to their feet and lead them out, but what could he say. A ‘fuck you’ to the guards wouldn’t have achieved much other than another kick in the face and he didn’t want to see the women hurt like he’d been.

  After the guards had left and locked the door behind them, Flynn felt the collective empathy in the place. They sat there like a group of people who’d been given some bad news. They were united in their solidarity for the afflicted. They were nervous for what would happen to the women.

  A look at the primate in the middle and Flynn froze to see the brute staring straight at him. For a second he held his glare. The bullying man then looked from him to One and back to him again.

  To save the stand-off, Flynn turned his attention to One. She sat hunched over, her arms hooked over her knees and her back arched. He spoke so only she heard him, painfully aware of the brute’s attention as his glare bored into him. “So, if you don’t know what happens when we reach twenty, how do you know about the woman who runs this place?”

  “I used to live in a nearby community. Sure, we knew fucked-up shit was happening here, but we did our best to avoid knowing what that was. They left us alone. That was all we cared about. Until …”

  A glance at the brute, who continued to watch them, and Flynn said, “Until?”

  “Until they decided to take us over.”

  “How many did you have in your community?”

  “Just shy of fifty.”

  “Where are the others now?”

  One stared into the middle distance with glazed eyes as she said, “Dead. She slaughtered the lot of them.”

  “How come she didn’t kill you?” Flynn looked at the brute again. The Neanderthal seemed ready to walk over.

  “I’ve thought about that. I’ve had a lot of time to think. My only guess is that she wants someone to keep her legend alive. At least one witness needs to survive for people to understand just how fucking horrible she is. That’s how it works, isn’t it? Let the story spread. Once fear infects someone’s mind, you’ve beaten them already, right?”

  Flynn looked at the brute again. “What did she do to your community?”

  One looked at Flynn, her eyes wide. “You really want to know?”

  Flynn shrugged.

  After a deep breath, One stared back into the middle distance. She looked detached from her words and spoke in a monotone. “She killed the children first. We had a village hall, which she forced everyone into. It had a stage.”

  It took several breaths before One spoke again, tears running down her face as she relived the experience. “She made the children line up on the stage, got them all singing a song they knew, and then …” She lost it for a second and dropped her head. A slight shake ran through her, and even in the poor light, Flynn watched her tears fall to the ground.

  Another look at the brute and Flynn saw the smile on his twisted face.

  One spoke again. “She cut their throats one by one.”

  “My god!” Flynn said. “We had a woman like that near us. It was about ten years ago now.”

  “Maybe it was the Queen.”

  “The what?”

  “That’s what she calls herself. After she’d killed the children, she dragged me out of the crowd and took me outside the village hall. She got her guards to nail every exit shut and then made me …” One lost it again and Flynn didn’t push her. She’d tell him in her own time.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The sound of approaching guards ran up the tunnel towards the prison and everyone in the room turned to face them, including One, who looked up from her grief. They opened the door and shoved Eighteen and Nineteen back into the room. They hadn’t bound their hands like they had with Flynn, but they both had sacks over their heads.

  The two women both fell to the ground as they came in. They brought the reek of seared flesh with them.

  After they’d moved into a dark corner like beaten dogs, they huddled together and sobbed. The other prisoners paid them no mind. Not even the brute, who continued to stare over at Flynn and One with the same antagonising smile on his smug face.

  About ten minutes had passed since One last spoke. She stared at Eighteen and Nineteen like everyone else did until the sadness had left her eyes. A steely glare replaced it and she straightened her back. “She made me set fire to the hall with all the people of my community inside. I promise you, Sixteen, when I get a chance, I’m going to make the cunt pay.”

  “So what’s this, then?” The booming voice of the brute cut through the room and Flynn’s shoulders tensed at the sound of it. It had to come sooner or later.

  The brute stepped forward a couple of paces. “It looks to me like we have a couple of lovebirds here. The first dungeon romance maybe?”

  Both Flynn and One kept their mouths shut.

  “You’ll have to give me time to buy a new suit before you two tie the knot.” He’d now stepped close enough for Flynn to see the glint in his dark eyes. The kind of arsehole that needed to dominate to feel secure. “And maybe let me have a go on it”—he nodded at One—“before you make an honest woman of her?”

  One recoiled at the comment and Flynn got to his feet, his fists clenched, his heart pounding. The brute might have been bigger than him, but he’d already seen what Flynn could do when backed into a corner.

  The brute laughed, his deep voice calling out into the tunnel beyond the dungeon. “What? You think you have the beating of me?”

  Instead of replying, Flynn looked around at the other prisoners. Other than the man he’d knocked out, all of them huddled in groups of two to four people. The brute followed his line of sight.

  “You’d do well to see you’ve isolated yourself,” Flynn said. “Now I don’t know what’s waiting for us when we get to twenty, but I wouldn’t mind betting most people are looking for an excuse to take you down if they get it.”

  The confidence visibly left the brute and his entire frame sank. Before he could offer a comeback, Flynn said, “Now, I’d fuck off back to your space in the middle of the room if I were you. You ain’t welcome anywhere else.”

  Although he kept his fists clenched and his jaw locked tight, the brute shook his head and stepped back a pace. More for the theatrics of it than anything, he pointed one of his sausage fingers at Flynn. “You’re on thin ice, boy. Thin fucking ice.”

  Flynn sat down and leaned against the wall. No need to goad the arsehole any further. One shuffled even closer to him and said, “Thanks, Sixteen.”

  “Flynn.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, Flynn. I’m Rose.”

  “Pretty name.”

  The crack of the lock might have spared her blushes. Just a shame that it came with the guard announcing, “Twenty,” to the room as he shoved another prisoner in. Rose looked at Flynn, her features sla
ck.

  “Fuck,” Flynn said. “I’m guessing we’ll find out what happens next, then.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Because he’d been underground for so long, when the guards drove the prisoners out of the dungeon, Flynn couldn’t see for the first few seconds. The glare burned his eyes and the heat instantly made him sweat. It felt even hotter above ground than in the heady prison.

  Every step Flynn took reminded him of the pain covering his right kidney. The slightest jolt shook the swollen flesh around the wound. It made his back feel fat where it never had before. He’d also picked up a whole host of aches and pains from where he’d sat on the hard ground for hours.

  Flynn heard it the second he walked out of the dungeon, but he still couldn’t see well enough to make out the crowd and their purpose. They were obviously there to witness some kind of spectacle. A spectacle that the prisoners would be at the centre of.

  As his sight recovered, Flynn frowned to look at the scene before him. The dungeon had been underground—that much he’d worked out—but now they’d exited it, he saw the deep pit that had been dug to access it. It looked like a huge square had been carved into the ground. Steep walls of exposed earth on three sides stood at least thirty metres tall. The only way out looked to be the long, slick slope in front of them. It led from where they were, all the way up to the crowd at the top about thirty metres above. Unless they wanted to turn around and walk back into the prison, they had just one option out of there.

  Like Flynn, all of the prisoners had stopped and rubbed their eyes as they took in their surroundings. When the guards growled behind them, Flynn turned to see all of them waving bats to spur the prisoners forward.

  As he slowly moved on, Flynn looked at the people above. At least a hundred spectators, maybe more, they’d all gathered around the vast pit and stared down at the prisoners. They were so far away, he struggled to see their facial expressions, but the jeers and cries said it all. They expected to be entertained, and they expected blood.

  A look across at Rose and Flynn saw her staring up at the people too.

  The pit must have taken months to dig without machinery. Months and an army of people. But they’d had twenty years since Vicky helped release the plague, and with very little incentive to travel—especially when the diseased fuckers wandered about—what else could people do?

  As they were forced closer to the slope, Flynn screwed his nose up at the stench. He looked to either side of him and noticed the other prisoners doing the same. The large and wide incline looked slick from a distance, but now he’d drawn closer to it, Flynn saw what he’d perceived as wet mud to be something entirely different. Not only would the sewage be hard to climb, but he’d have to stop himself vomiting on the way up.

  At the bottom of the hill, pointing up in the direction of the slick slope, were a militant line of wooden stakes. Each one looked as sharp as an arrow and they were thick enough to withstand bodies sliding into them. Blood stained their shafts. Not everyone would make it up the slope without sliding back into the stakes. The audience above seemed to be counting on it.

  None of the prisoners spoke as they all moved through the line of stakes to the bottom of the slick hill. Sewage pooled from where it had run down the slope, coating the bottom of Flynn’s shoes. A froth sat on the brown liquid, and the smell hung so heavy it damn near made his eyes water.

  Another look at Rose and Flynn properly took in her form for the first time in the bright light. Skinny from where she’d spent the longest time of all the prisoners in the dungeon, she already looked weak. They must have fed her something, but it didn’t look like much. Many of the other prisoners appeared the same. Even the brute seemed less brutish in the sun’s strong glare. Where he’d come across as big and powerful in the shadows of the prison, he now looked overweight and unfit. If he needed more than strength, he’d surely find himself lacking.

  Before Flynn could think on it any further, one of the guards shimmied through the filthy and bloody stakes. To see her tied a knot in his guts. Mistress!

  She still wore her bloody leather apron as she walked up and down in front of the prisoners, a wide strut as if to accommodate her ample frame. She raised her voice, clearly for the large crowd who’d fallen silent above. “Ladies and gentlemen—and I ain’t talking to you dogs,” she said to the prisoners. “Please meet the newest line of hopefuls. We like to start with twenty, but as you all already know, number fifteen and seventeen didn’t make it out of the dungeon. Anyone with those numbers should have received new ones by now.”

  When Flynn looked at the brute, he saw him straighten his back and lift his chin. He seemed proud that number fifteen hadn’t made it.

  “And now, numbers one to twenty,” she said to the prisoners, “you’ve probably guessed what you need to do.”

  Another look at the huge slick hill and Flynn gulped. He ran his eyes all the way up it to the onlookers at the top.

  “And what if we say no?” a dark-skinned girl asked. She stood no taller than about five feet and looked so skinny she’d snap. Although why she felt the need to shout out baffled Flynn. She didn’t need to worry; she’d scoot up the hill like a lizard over hot sand.

  Mistress looked at one of the guards behind the girl and nodded. The guard—a large man with powerful arms—raised his wooden baton and cracked her across the back of the head with a tonk. The sound echoed around the pit and the girl’s legs buckled beneath her. The guard then buried a large knife into the back of her skull.

  Silence hung in the air for a few seconds before Mistress said, “Anyone else want to speak out?”

  No one responded.

  The guard who’d dropped the girl lifted her shirt up to reveal the infected number six.

  “Number six is down,” he called at the people above. Groans and moans met his words, and paper ticker-taped down onto the slope and the prisoners.

  The paper took an age to make it to Flynn, but when one landed nearby, he saw the number six on it.

  “Now, as you can see,” Mistress said as she walked up to one of the stakes and pushed against the sharpened tip of it with her finger, “not everyone will make it past the first obstacle.”

  The first obstacle? Flynn wanted to ask how many there were, but he kept his mouth shut and gulped, his throat dry from the heat.

  “But for those who do,” Mistress continued, “you’ll be rewarded. The prize for the winner is a place in our community. You get to live like the rest of us. As for those who don’t make it”—she shrugged—“thanks for participating, and thanks for the entertainment.” For a few seconds, she focused on the dead number six, the pool of piss she lay in turning red as she bled into it.

  Another look up and down the line and Flynn nodded to himself. He had the beating of most of the prisoners there. Unlike the others, he’d been well fed and well rested until that moment. Some of them looked on the verge of collapse already. Time in the prison hadn’t served any of them well.

  “So,” Mistress said and clapped her hands together, “without further ado, let the contest begin.”

  The spectators whooped and hollered, sending a deafening swirl of noise down into the pit. Someone threw a rock and it hit the slope with a wet squelch!

  Mistress waved a finger up at the crowd. “Not yet! Wait for me to get out of the way first. Jesus.”

  The rock sat as large as a football. After he’d looked at it for a few seconds, Flynn looked up at the crowd again. How many more would be thrown down while they climbed?

  Mistress walked back through the spikes and past the prisoners to join the other guards. She removed a baton from her belt and stood in line with her peers. Blood stained the end of her bat and she seemed to take great pleasure in showing the prisoners that as she held it aloft. “Just in case you don’t feel like climbing, know we have ways to motivate you. Prisoners, get ready …

  “Ten.”

  Flynn shuffled forward with the others to the bottom of the hill.

/>   “Nine.”

  He looked at Rose, her face pale like she’d vomit at any moment.

  “Eight.”

  Flynn watched the brute glance from side to side as if looking for the weak ones to take down.

  “Seven.”

  A deep inhale of the shit-scented air.

  “Six.”

  A man burst into tears next to Flynn.

  “Five.”

  A girl no older than about fifteen threw up.

  “Four.”

  Flynn clenched his jaw, his frantic heart threatening to unsettle his stamina.

  “Three.”

  The crowd above seemed to lean over even further, every one of them gripped with silent anticipation.

  “Two.”

  The top of the hill mattered. Nothing else. Just get to the top.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “One!”

  A deep lungful of the heady reek around him and Flynn stepped onto the slope. He slipped off immediately.

  Several of the lighter prisoners on either side of Flynn managed to stay on with their first attempt. Not that he carried a huge amount of extra weight, but like number six, they couldn’t have been any more than five stone dripping wet. Malnourished, they moved up the slope on their spindly limbs like spiders.

  On Flynn’s second attempt, he leaned forward and planted his hands into the slope first. Shit oozed up between his fingers.

  Flynn ignored the heave threatening to turn through him and brought his right foot up again. This time he stabbed his toe into the soft ground, made sure he had some purchase, and pushed off against it.

  When he remained on the slope, Flynn repeated the process with his left foot.

  The crowd above screamed and jeered, but Flynn kept his attention on the hill in front of him. The rancid and muddy reek of human waste smothered him. Not that he could do anything to change it. He shut it out as best as he could and pushed on.