Rhys looked at Oscar and held the security card up.
Oscar nodded.
In three quick steps, Rhys arrived at the control panel and swiped his card through it. As the metal shutter whirred, he watched the girl ride down the street, his heart heavy for her fate.
Before the shutter had closed completely, Rhys ducked down and looked through the gap at the bottom. Six diseased shot from an alleyway at a full sprint. They must have heard the bang. They crashed hard into the girl, which knocked both her and her bike to the ground.
Her scream rang through the quiet city. It was then replaced with a gargled sound as she choked on her own blood.
Just as the shutter closed fully, she fell silent and Rhys sighed. “Poor girl.”
“Stupid fucking girl more like,” Oscar said. “She’s better off dead than dragging us down.”
As much as Rhys wanted to berate the man, he had to agree with him. The girl would have hindered any chance they had of survival. Shame she had to go out like that though.
Chapter Nine
The pair spent about the next fifteen minutes in the shop. The first thing they did was pick bikes. Before they’d entered, anything with two wheels would have done. Once faced with a large choice, they became a lot pickier.
Oscar had found a small amount of petrol and turned a water bottle into another Molotov cocktail. He tore a rag off one of the shop’s own branded t-shirts that had ‘COGS’ written across it in capital letters. He stuffed it into the bottle.
Rhys had gone on a search for bags to fill with fireworks and found a stash of energy drinks. The disgusting things stank, tasted like bleach, and dehydrated him; on the plus side, he vibrated with so much nervous energy he felt like he could outrun a racehorse. The jagged anxiety seemed like a small price to pay for the renewed vigour.
After he’d taken a lighter from the box on the side, Rhys threw one at Oscar. He then slipped his new rucksack—heavy with fireworks—onto his back and wheeled the mountain bike he’d chosen to the card reader that would let them out. “You ready?”
Before Oscar said anything, Rhys sniffed the air. The familiar tang of rot hung heavy. He screwed his nose up and pressed a finger to his lips.
The cold shutter stung the side of his face when he leaned into it and listened. The rank smell increased tenfold with the slight move forward and sent hot saliva down the back of his throat. His pulse galloped when he heard it. Breathing; nothing more, just the collective rattle of wet lungs.
Oscar stared at Rhys with wide eyes and Rhys shook his head.
While he held his breath, Rhys gently leaned his bike against a stand loaded with water bottles. Caffeine and sugar rushed through his system and ran a violent shake through his entire body. His anxiety ratcheted up several notches. Once he’d made sure his bike wouldn’t fall, Rhys walked over to the cog-shaped stairs.
At the top, he found a thick steel door. A swipe of his security card popped it from its frame. When he pushed it wide, the hinges creaked.
The low sun dazzled him when he stepped out onto the roof and the heat of the day smothered him like a tight blanket.
A dusting of light stones lay over the three-metre square flat roof. Several large plant pots with a couple of dry and ratty stalks poking up from the soil inside sat at the edge as if ready to be toppled onto the diseased below. The stones crunched beneath Rhys’ feet when he walked across it with Oscar by his side.
When they got to the edge and looked down, Rhys’ heart jolted and the rock of anxiety in his stomach pinched tighter.
The sea of diseased stretched so far back that Rhys would have struggled to drive a golf ball over the top of them. As he watched them, he shuddered; something about the way they stood around slid an itchy discomfort beneath his skin. Many of them shuffled as if in a perpetual battle to keep their balance, yet most of them seemed relatively calm.
The bloody eyes looked everywhere but up. It would have been easy to assume the monsters were blinded by the thick secretion, but Rhys had been on the receiving end of their attention. Whatever they could see when they faced him was enough to hunt him down with hawk-like focus. Rhys spoke in a whisper, “They’re waiting for us to come out.”
When Oscar didn’t reply, Rhys looked to see him staring out over the crowd. His strong jaw hung lose, and his wide eyes searched the mob.
A shake of his head, and Rhys pulled his hair away from his sticky forehead. “We’re fucked, Oscar. We’re fucked.”
Chapter Ten
Oscar ground his jaw as he looked out over the diseased mob. “I knew I should have broken that fucking girl’s neck.”
A chill ran through Rhys as he stared at the big man, who had malice in his cold stare. Sometimes people said things like that and didn’t mean it; Oscar’s icy tone suggested he not only meant, but he embodied every syllable of it.
Rhys stepped back from the edge of the roof. “It looks like every one of the fuckers from the car park found their way here.”
If he’d have stepped back any farther he would have been completely hidden from view, but none of the mob had seen him or Oscar yet, and he couldn’t resist the opportunity to watch them. They stood patiently as if waiting in line. It was easy to write these things off as mindless monsters, but they knew what they were doing. They knew Rhys and Oscar were inside the bike shop—or had a sense of it. Maybe they didn’t understand why they congregated there, but they had a compulsion to remain there at the very least.
A particularly strong gust of wind cooled the sweat on Rhys’ brow and drove the strong reek of rot into his face. Rhys screwed his nose up against the tang and continued to watch the crowd of diseased.
Some of them caught his eye more than others. A big, fat woman stood near the front. The hole in the side of her neck looked like someone had removed a ten-ounce steak from it. It glistened with a yellowish tinge as if it had started to ooze pus already. Her loose-fitting shirt had been torn open and one of her massive saggy breasts hung from it like an old, half-filled sack.
Behind and to the left of the woman, a small boy bit at the air. No older than Flynn, he looked scared and confused, like he needed direction on who to bite. Half of his hair had been ripped off and revealed a dark-red, tacky scalp. Blood ran down his arm from a deep bite mark in his bicep.
Most of the infected wore suits, but some wore the official uniform of the Summit City police or fire brigade.
Wet squelches joined the moans and groans. Many of the diseased existed as animated wounds. The heavy, phlegmy death rattle and click of snapping teeth added percussion to the low-level hum of suffering.
It took all of Rhys’ energy to hold his gasp in when Oscar yanked him back. “What are you doing?” he said. “Are you trying to get them to notice you or something?”
So far back now that he couldn’t see them and they couldn’t see him, Rhys said, “I was just watching them. They’re not mad like they have been every other time I’ve bumped into them. Do you think the effects of the virus are wearing off?”
A sharp shake of his head and Oscar laughed without humour. “No, of course they’re not. They just haven’t seen us yet,” he raised an eyebrow at Rhys, “although if you keep on trying to give us away like you are…”
Heat rushed to Rhys’ cheeks and he looked down. Oscar may have been a prick, but Rhys had no defence for his actions. He could have given them away just because of his curiosity.
“What goes through your head, Rhys?”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking child.”
“Stop behaving like one then.”
“Whatever,” Rhys said. Before the big man could reply, he added, “Anyway, it’s not like I’m giving us away. They obviously know we’re in the shop. Why would they be gathered around outside if they didn’t?”
“Of course they know we’re in here, but that’s no reason to confirm it by showing them. If they don’t see something to get wound up about then they won’t get wound up, will they?”
“Okay,” Rhys said, “so if you know so much about them, what do we do now?”
“How the fuck am I supposed to know? Your new girlfriend knew a lot of shit about the diseased. What would Vicky do?”
The comment caught Rhys off guard. He watched Oscar through narrowed eyes and studied his features for his reaction. “I’ve not told you her name yet.”
The moment of uncertainty Rhys had seen with the whole Adam / Alan incident didn’t present itself like he’d expected it to. “You’ve said it about ten times already. She’s all you talk about. I have a good memory for names.” A playful smile and he shook his head. “Clearly much better than yours.”
The signs may have been less obvious this time, but Rhys hadn’t mentioned Vicky by name. It had been a conscious choice; the less he told the big man, the better.
But Oscar didn’t budge and regarded Rhys with his cool and unwavering glare.
There didn’t seem to be any point in pursuing the matter. Neither man would budge. Oscar had the fighting skills to help get Rhys to The Alpha Tower. After that, they could go their separate ways and be done with it.
In the silence, an idea hit Rhys and he held a finger in the air. “Wait there.”
He walked over to the card reader and swiped his card through it. The red light turned green and he pulled the door open. The hinges groaned again. As he ran down the stairs that represented bike cogs, he listened to Oscar catch the door before it closed.
The big man called down the stairs, “Are you trying to leave me up here or something?”
Rhys stopped and looked up at the man. “No, why?”
“If this door closes, it needs a card to open it from the outside. I’m guessing you still have the card?”
Of course Rhys did. “I’m going to get some of the bigger fireworks—the ones that wouldn’t fit in our backpacks; I think we can use them.”
Oscar stared at Rhys for a moment before he dipped a slight nod. “Okay. I’ll keep the door open while you bring them up.”
A nod back and Rhys continued down the stairs. The big man wouldn’t be easy to shake should he want to lose him. Rhys dismissed the thought and ran over to the handlebar display case. The glass door to the firework cabinet hung open from when they’d filled their backpacks earlier. When Rhys pulled the tray out, his heart raced as he stared at the huge rockets. They were about to make a lot of fucking noise. He then leaned forward and scooped them up.
***
With so many rockets in his arms, Rhys nearly dropped them as he walked up the stairs. He looked up at Oscar, who remained in the doorway staring down at him. A half smile lifted Oscar’s face as he took obvious pleasure in Rhys’ struggle.
Once Rhys reached the top of the stairs, Oscar remained in the doorway so Rhys had to pause until he got out of his way. When Oscar stepped aside, Rhys walked out onto the roof and squinted as the bright setting sun stung his eyes. Whatever game Oscar wanted to play, he could play it by himself; Rhys didn’t have time for his bullshit.
Oscar regarded him with his usual disdain. “So what are you going to do with them? And why didn’t you use the ones in your backpack?”
“Because I might need those for later. These are the ones we can’t take with us.”
The wooden poles attached to the fireworks clattered against the roof when Rhys put them down. His pulse spiked and he dropped into a crouch. The movement tore at his tired leg muscles, but better that than the fuckers below see them.
With Oscar crouched by his side, too, the pair listened to the diseased down below. No worse than usual, the monsters obviously hadn’t twigged as to where Rhys and Oscar were yet.
A glance at Oscar, and Rhys’ heart stopped for a second. Ice ran down his back when he saw a patch of blood had seeped through Oscar’s blue jeans from his right thigh. No wonder he ran with a limp.
When Rhys looked back at Oscar, the big man glared at him. Rhys closed his mouth, took a breath to speak, but said nothing. Had Oscar been bitten?
Rhys turned away from Oscar and picked up the firework he wanted to use. He then stood up and peered at the horde below. None of them looked up.
While on tiptoes, Rhys walked to the edge of the roof, and the stones crunched beneath his feet.
When he got close enough to both see the mob directly beneath him and for the mob to be able see him, he held his breath and retrieved one of the large plant pots from the edge of the roof. Fuck knows what had grown from it. Whatever it had been, it had long since died. If they’d have had more time, the pots may have served as good projectiles at some point. However, with only three and a half hours left before the entire city went up in flames, they’d need a bigger plan. With a few heavy plant pots and stones as ammunition, they’d be there until the middle of next week.
Rhys grunted as he lifted the heavy pot, still full of earth, and his exhausted arms shook from the effort. As he returned to Oscar with it, he made more noise than at any other point up on the roof.
A vent protruded from the roof by about ten centimetres. Rhys leaned the plant pot against it so the top of it angled out over the crowd.
When he took one of the smaller rockets and stuck it into the earth, Oscar laughed. “Are you out of your gourd? That’s never going to work.”
Rhys didn’t respond and his eyes dropped to Oscar’s thigh for a moment. The bloodstain had grown to the size of a dinner plate.
Rhys then hunched down, removed a lighter from his pocket, and lit the fuse.
The touch paper hissed and Rhys’ mouth dried as he waited what felt like the longest few seconds of his life.
The firework took off with a whoosh and screamed as it flew a large arc away from them through the air. It left a red trail behind as it sailed between two towers on the other side of the street.
After it had vanished out of sight, Rhys waited.
Nothing.
“Well, that was worth it,” Oscar said. “Good job we have you with us. Fucking hell, Einstein, what do you—?”
Before he could finish, a loud bang echoed through the relatively still city. Cries went up from the mob below and the sounds of a stampede ran away from them.
The mature thing would have been to play it cool. Instead, Rhys threw a tight-lipped and smug smile at Oscar. “See, I told you it would work.”
Oscar walked across the roof and peered down. When he came back to Rhys, he shook his head. “You moved a quarter of them at best.”
Rhys pointed at the other rockets in the pile. “What do you think those are for?”
Before Oscar responded, Rhys hunched down again and jabbed the rockets—two at a time—into the flowerpot.
It took about a minute before he had every rocket angled in the same direction.
Oscar stood by with his hands on his hips and watched Rhys with a sneer the entire time. The atmosphere between the two had been icy before Rhys called him out about Vicky. Now that Rhys had as good as called him a liar and openly stared at his wound, bite, or whatever the fuck it was, it had turned positively Arctic.
Rhys knew just two things about the man: he could fight and he couldn’t be trusted. Rhys needed someone who could fight, but what did Oscar need from Rhys? Maybe he’d be his first meal when the disease turned him.
Another look at the bloody patch on Oscar’s thigh, and Rhys said, “I need you to stay up here.”
“What the fuck?”
“You stay up here and light the fireworks. I’ll go downstairs and get the bikes ready. Once the diseased have left, I’ll open the shutters and we can get out of here.”
“So I just let you lock me up on this roof while you go downstairs?”
Rhys walked across to the edge of the roof again and retrieved another ratty plant pot. He grunted from the weight of it and carried it to the door. After he’d swiped the card reader, he pulled the door wide and used the pot to wedge it open. “Better?”
Oscar grunted.
After a quick scan of the rockets in the pot, Rhys said, “We have
nine fireworks to set off. After you’ve set off seven, I’ll open the shutters so we’re ready to go.”
Oscar didn’t reply. Instead, he stared at Rhys and his eyes narrowed. The pause lasted for a good ten seconds before he finally nodded. His voice took on a new level of calm that turned the skin on Rhys’ arms to gooseflesh. “I swear to you, Rhys, if you fuck me over, I’m going to hunt you down and break your fucking spine. You got that?”
The sooner they got to The Alpha Tower, released the shutters, and parted company, the better. Rhys spun on his heel and headed downstairs.
Chapter Eleven
The tension left Rhys’ body the second he descended the stairs. The short time he’d spent up there with Oscar had wound him tighter than a coiled spring. Whatever the man’s agenda, just being around him increased the weight of the anxious lump in Rhys’ gut. Not only did he have to keep his eyes peeled for the diseased, but he had to watch for the knife that could be firmly wedged into his back at any point.
As he walked down the stairs to the main shop floor, Rhys took a deep breath. The smell of rubber helped clear the stink of rot that had lodged firmly in his sinuses. It felt like the stench would never leave him.
Rhys focused on the closed shutter and walked toward it on tiptoes. When he got just a few metres away, he heard the sound of the diseased on the other side. If they tried, the sheer weight of their collective pressure could force the shutter into the shop. Maybe they hadn’t pushed because they didn’t know Rhys and Oscar hid inside.
The small respite the scent of rubber provided vanished as Rhys moved closer forward. The sharp tang of rancid meat, excrement, and vomit nearly brought tears to his eyes.
Rhys flinched at the coldness of the shutter when he pressed his face against it to listen. Just centimetres between him and the undead, he heard their phlegmy death rattle again.
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