The Alpha Plague (Book 7)
Page 1
Contents
Front Matter
Copyright
Mailing List
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
Chapter Sixty-Five
Chapter Sixty-Six
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Chapter Seventy
Chapter Seventy-One
Chapter Seventy-Two
Chapter Seventy-Three
About the Author
Other Authors Under the Sheild of Phalanx Press
The Alpha Plague 7
By
Michael Robertson
Website and Newsletter:
http://michaelrobertson.co.uk
Email: subscribers@michaelrobertson.co.uk
Edited by:
Terri King - http://terri-king.wix.com/editing
And
Pauline Nolet - http://www.paulinenolet.com
Cover Design by Christian Bentulan
The Alpha Plague 7
Michael Robertson
© 2016 Michael Robertson
The Alpha Plague 7 is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, situations, and all dialogue are entirely a product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously and are not in any way representative of real people, places or things.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
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MAILING LIST
Prologue
The letter shook in Flynn’s hand as he stared down at Vicky’s untidy handwriting. How could she leave him there on his own? Most days she wouldn’t let him walk around Home without breathing down his neck. It didn’t make sense. Or maybe he didn’t want to believe it made sense. Maybe he’d driven her away with his behaviour. He hadn’t exactly been kind to her.
When Flynn stood up, he wobbled on his tired legs, the effects of sleep still with him. He bent down to pick his shoes up and stumbled when he tried to put one of them on. To prevent himself from falling over, he pressed his right hand against the wall, crushing Vicky’s letter against it in the process.
After he’d slipped both of his shoes on, Flynn walked out of his room, leaving the door open behind him.
The sound of the people in the canteen came at Flynn as he walked up the corridor. A wash of noise, the collective hum of conversation made each word spoken utterly indecipherable.
Maybe all the people in the place had turned up for breakfast. Hard to tell because it somehow sounded much quieter than usual—not surprising considering how many had died on the battlefield. But had anyone other than Vicky decided to leave?
Flynn entered the canteen, stopped, and looked at the diners. It already seemed like a waste of time. Although, as the communal area in the building, it had been the obvious place to come to. Maybe Vicky would still be there, and he could catch her before she left. She might have even changed her mind.
Flynn looked at all the people eating. So few compared to what had been there before they went to war. An ache tugged on his throat and he swallowed it down; he couldn’t see Vicky. He’d been an idiot to think he might have.
Although they talked, many people ate with bowed heads while the screens on the far wall showed the scores of diseased outside. It would be a while before they didn’t.
If Flynn looked hard enough, he’d undoubtedly see people he knew in the diseased horde. He didn’t feel ready for that, and by the look of the people in the canteen, no one else did either.
It took for Flynn to look down at the letter in his hand to see he’d crushed it completely in his balled fist. He clenched his jaw and breathed through his nose, inhaling the smell of boiled cabbage that accompanied every meal. What a moron he was to think Vicky would have changed her mind.
Although he looked over the place, nobody looked up. Most seemed too lost in their own grief; everybody had lost someone. Then Brian lifted his head.
Maybe Flynn should have stayed in his room, but now he’d entered the canteen, he couldn’t hold it back. “You!” he said as he pointed at the man and stormed over to him.
The low level of conversation died down as Flynn weaved through the tables towards the bearded man. Contempt stared back at him when he got close.
About ten metres between them and Flynn pointed at Brian again. “I hope you’re proud.”
“What are you talking about?” Brian said with a laugh beneath his words and a sneer on his fat face.
“Like you don’t know. You and your gang of cowards are the reason she’s gone.”
Brian simply stared at Flynn.
Fire rose beneath Flynn’s cheeks and he shook as he glared at the man. Sweat bled into the crushed ball of paper in his hand and his breathing sped up.
The silence swelled through the place until Brian finally said, “You’re not making much sense, boy.”
Tension snapped Flynn’s shoulders tight and dragged them up to his neck. “Don’t call me boy, you fat fuck. She’s gone. You know full well she’s gone.”
Raised eyebrows and another laugh before Brian looked at Sharon and Dan. He then returned his attention to Flynn. “Who’s gone?”
When Flynn shouted, the sound of it echoed through
the large space. “Vicky, you moron!” He stepped closer so just a few metres separated them and clenched his fists so hard his forearms ached. “Vicky’s gone! Driven away by you and your band of cowards.”
“We didn’t drive her away,” Sharon said.
But Flynn ignored her and continued to address Brian. “She did more for you than you’ll ever know, and you drove her out of here.”
Again, Brian said nothing.
“I have no one now because of you.”
At that moment Dan stood up. “We don’t have any children!”
“That was Moira, not Vicky, you idiot.”
“You need to learn some respect, boy.” Dan moved closer to Flynn.
Flynn stepped forward to meet him. He might have only been sixteen, but he stood a couple of inches taller than Dan and had far more battle experience.
Just an inch separated their noses when Flynn said, “And you want to be the one to teach it to me, do you?”
The silence seemed to suck the air from the room and Flynn felt everyone in the canteen watching them. He shifted another half an inch closer and felt Dan’s body heat against his face. He spoke in a low growl. “Well?”
When someone grabbed Flynn from behind and spun him around, he raised his fist. The fight left him. “Serj?”
Sadness sat in Serj’s deep brown eyes, his eyebrows raised in a pinch in the middle. “Come with me,” he said and tugged on Flynn’s arm again. He pulled him away from Dan.
“Sit down, Dan,” Serj said.
At first, Dan didn’t move. He simply stared at Serj, seemingly braver now the conflict looked less likely to happen.
“Please?” the Indian man urged with a weary sigh. “We’ve had enough fighting to last us a lifetime.”
Dan pointed at Flynn. “Tell him that.”
Serj didn’t respond. Instead, he stared at Dan and Dan stared back before returning to his seat. He eyeballed Flynn as he sat down.
Flynn couldn’t keep it in. “Oh, sure”—his loud voice carried through the canteen—“he’s brave now he’s been asked to sit down. Now Serj has diffused the situation, you’ve suddenly discovered your spine.”
“Shut up, Flynn!” Serj said.
Fire rushed up in Flynn, but he swallowed it back down again. Of all the people left in Home, he trusted just one of them. A deep inhale and he kept his mouth shut.
The sound of Flynn’s and Serj’s footsteps called through the canteen as Flynn followed the leader of Home to the foyer. The collective attention of the room burned into him still, but fuck them. Fuck them all.
***
When they reached the foyer, Flynn watched Serj walk over to the windows and look out. For a few seconds he stared at the diseased as if looking for faces he recognised.
Flynn stayed put. The diseased were creatures and nothing more. He didn’t need to see familiarity in their twisted expressions.
When he’d finished, Serj turned to Flynn and spoke in a quiet voice. “She chose to go, mate.”
The sounds in the canteen had picked up a little, the white noise of collective chatter showing Flynn they weren’t listening to him and Serj anymore. Still, he kept his voice low. “Hardly a choice though, was it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, those lot in there didn’t exactly give her many options. And why didn’t you try to stop her?”
At that moment, Serj looked at the floor and let go of a weary sigh. “I would have stopped it if I could have.”
“It?”
“Her.” A shake of his head as if to clear his mind and Serj said, “Her. I would have stopped her if I could have. It had to happen.”
Flynn’s rage resurfaced. “What the fuck are you talking about? The war had to happen. Vicky choosing to leave didn’t have to happen. That definitely didn’t have to happen.”
When Serj stepped forward, Flynn tensed up and scowled at him.
“I’m sorry,” Serj said as he got closer. “I’m sorry about everything. I want you to know I’m here for you whenever you need me. I promised Vicky I’d look out for you.”
Another look into the sad deep brown eyes of Home’s leader and Flynn’s rage left him. His bottom lip bent out of shape and the lump he’d been pushing down rose up, wedging in his throat like a dry ball of bread. Although he drew a deep breath, the foyer around him still blurred through his tears. His bottom lip bent out of shape. He tried to say the word, but only managed to mouth it. Why?
Serj stepped forward and hugged him.
The man’s embrace broke Flynn and everything rushed out of him. Hot tears burned his eyes and soaked his cheeks. He’d lost his mum and dad, and now Vicky. Sobbing, he shook his head into Serj’s shoulder as he finally got his words out. “Why, Serj? Why?”
But Serj didn’t respond. Instead, Flynn felt him grip tighter as he too shook with his own grief.
Chapter One
TEN YEARS LATER
They hadn’t moved any quicker than a fast walk, yet the hot June sun burned strong enough to lift sweat on Flynn’s body. He had to squint against the glare as he stared into the distance at their destination, a tight grip on his baton.
The town on the horizon stood as a skeleton of what it used to be, picked clean of anything useful. Only desperation and hope kept them coming back. Maybe it would have the supplies they needed. Maybe they hadn’t checked every inch of it already.
A look at Serj, and Flynn saw him also squinting against the glare of the summer day. “Do you think we’ll find the lead in there?”
Serj shrugged. “Dunno. It gets us out for the day at least, eh? Good to stretch our legs.”
“That depends,” Flynn said.
“On what?”
“On what we meet in the city. The more years that pass, the more feral the human race seems to be getting.”
Although Serj opened his mouth to respond, the words remained in his gaping jaw as he looked behind them.
When Flynn heard the voices too, he also looked over his shoulder.
They didn’t need to have a discussion about it, they’d dealt with threats a thousand times before. As one, they dropped down into the long grass.
The people were still far enough away for Flynn to duck walk over to one of the rusty trucks on the old road without being noticed. The ground felt uneven beneath his feet. What used to be a highway now existed as broken lumps of concrete and asphalt. Nature had won, the grass slowly growing through it and tearing it apart over the years.
Where he’d sweated a little before, Flynn now had to wipe his brow with his sleeve to stop it running into his eyes. He leaned against the body of the old truck and kept a tight grip on his baton. If he pressed against the rusty vehicle too hard, it felt like the thing would turn to dust.
The grass stood at least a metre tall. That seemed to be about the optimum height for it in this area. For years it had remained the same. It made Serj completely invisible from Flynn’s current position. Until the gang passed, they were on their own.
The loud voices of men and women drew closer. The abandoned cars marked out the old road, and despite it not being there anymore, Flynn and Serj always walked down it. A force of habit the gang had also seemed to adopt.
Flynn fought against his panic and drew long and slow breaths. Although his rapid heart begged for him to breathe quicker, his head, close to spinning out, fought against his natural reaction to fear.
As each breath satisfied him less than the previous one, Flynn gave in and breathed faster. Of course he wouldn’t be able to calm himself down. There might be no diseased left in their part of the world, but the humans who remained were worse in a lot of cases. Especially marauding gangs like this lot; at least the diseased were predictable.
A glance up through the long grass and Flynn saw the head of one of the men. He wore what looked like the top half of a human skull as a cap. Dirt streaked his hairy face, gathering in his weathered wrinkles and drawing black lines on his skin. His wild eyes sat wide as he scanned t
he area. Tension coiled in his body, lifting his shoulders while he clenched his jaw. He looked on the very edge of losing his shit.
When the man pulled something up to his mouth and took a bite, Flynn’s stomach flipped. A human arm, it had been cooked, the outside slightly charred, the split skin revealing lightning streaks of pink flesh beneath. More animal than human, the man chewed as he walked.
The man disappeared from view for a few seconds while he passed on the other side of the rusty truck. The grass swooshed in his wake as he ploughed through it, and the sounds of all of the others’ feet dragged over the lumpy ground.
Flynn held his breath as he shifted along the truck and he peered around to see the man on the other side. He wore a leather vest and had a belt with an old bloodstained machete hanging down from it.
When Flynn looked next to the machete, his stomach lurched. As long as the blade next to it, it hung down, the stump end of it glistening from where it had been hacked off at the elbow. It had turned blue from where it hadn’t been cooked yet. The lower part of an arm, it probably belonged to the same person as the one the man currently chowed down on.
Flynn pulled back out of sight and continued to lean lightly against the truck, his heavy pulse rocking through him. As he listened to the people pass, they said things to one another he couldn’t make out. Toothless mouths and a strong accent made for a garbled and indecipherable slur.
***
It seemed to last an age, but the gang of people thinned out as they all passed. At a guess, Flynn would have put their number at maybe thirty. Over the years, he’d learned the best way to deal with nomads: get the fuck out of their way and let them through. Because they rarely stopped during the day, if you could avoid being seen for the time they were there, it would be safe to come out again.
What must have been one of the last people in the group suddenly called forward to the others. “Hawk!” she shouted.
Flynn gasped and raised his baton. The woman stood on the other side of the rusty truck.