Chapter Thirty-Six
As the pair ran, the wet slaps of their feet against the ground and the distant cry of their pursuers were the only sounds in the dark tunnel.
When they got to a door on their right, they stopped as one and Dave shone his torch on it. He moved his torchlight to the wall next to it and lit up another map. Dave read the writing across the top and his voice echoed in the hard space. “Building Fifteen.” He coughed several times. “We’re only one away. Thank god. This place gives me the creeps.”
They passed through another door that barred the way and Rhys smashed the handle from it like he had on all the other doors. The loud crash of it went off like a gunshot. A pull on the rod between the two handles and he listened to the metal ching as the handle on the other side hit the floor. The diseased screamed almost as if they understood his actions and knew their way would be barred again; although, their distant cries rang fainter than before.
“Good job, mate,” Dave said, “I think the doors are slowing them down.”
The pair set off again.
Within a minute or so, a stitch tore up Rhys’ side like he’d been stabbed. He raised a hand at Dave while he slowed down. “We have to ease up a little, man.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “They’re far enough behind.”
Dave slowed down, but a haunted look drifted across his face. “They’ll never be far enough behind.” He covered his mouth to stifle a cough.
The men moved at a fast walk. The pain in Rhys’ side forced him to hold his ribs as they went.
“Thanks again for rescuing me,” Dave said. “I know you think I’m a fuck up—”
“I don’t think you’re a fu—”
“It’s okay, Rhys, you’re right. I’ve been doing fuck all with my life. Drifting for years and living like I’m still a teenager.”
When Rhys opened his mouth to respond, Dave cut him off again.
“But that’s going to change from now. No more. I’m not going to be that loser who’s always up for a night out and doesn’t get out of bed on the weekends until after dark. What’s fucking wrong with me? I’m an adult, so I need to start behaving like one. I’m going to ask Julie out.”
“Now steady on, Dave.”
“I’m serious. I want to settle down. Start a family. I want to try on some responsibility. Engage with my emotions rather than get wasted so I don’t have to. I want to be a dad. Have kids who can be proud of me. It’s time to grow the fuck up. You’ve handed me a second chance, and I’m going to grab it with both hands. I’m going to live every fucking second like it matters, rather than run away from it.”
Rhys looked at his watch. “We’ve got to get off this island first.”
“We will.”
Anxiety stirred in Rhys’ bowels. Dave clearly didn’t get just how much more they needed to do to get free.
After he held the next door open for Dave, Rhys stepped through, closed it, and smashed the handle clean off. The loud whack boomed in the enclosed space and the diseased behind them screamed again, fainter still. “I know we’re putting distance between us and them, but I don’t understand how they’re still on our tail,” Rhys said. “What are they doing, tearing the fucking doors from their hinges or something? How have we not lost them yet?”
“We’re moving quicker than them,” Dave said. “That’s all we can focus on. It won’t be long before we don’t hear their screams any more. Besides, we’re nearly at Building Thirteen. After that we can leave the fuckers down here.”
At that moment, the bright glow of Dave’s torch dulled. The darkness that surrounded them grew as if it had been waiting for the opportunity.
When Rhys saw Dave stare at the screen on his phone, his shoulders tensed.
Dave looked back at Rhys. A frown darkened his brow as he said, “Oh shit. My batt—”
The light on the phone died.
The inky blackness that smothered them pushed against Rhys’ eyes as if to claw even the memory of light from them. Another scream called out behind them. Rhys’ own voice sounded louder in the darkness.
“It’s almost as if they can smell the opportunity.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The spark of the flint for Rhys’ lighter punched through the darkness. One, two, three times before the flame took. A slight breeze—neither man knew where from—shook the tiny light and animated the shadows that surrounded them.
Blind spots flashed in Rhys’ vision from the sudden change in light, and after a few seconds, he had to let the flame die. Hold it for too long and the plastic that held the strike wheel would melt, the spring-loaded flint would push against it, and the strike wheel, flint, and spring would disappear into the darkness forever. Better to have momentary flashes of light than none at all.
The men continued to walk at a fast pace. The darkness made Rhys move with greater stealth. Because of his lack of vision, he needed to keep his noise down so he could rely on his other senses. If only Dave would stop fucking coughing then maybe he’d hear something.
Every time Rhys stepped forward, uncertainty flipped his stomach in anticipation of a fall. At some point, he’d walk into something that would throw him to the ground. They didn’t have any other choice but to keep on though; if they stopped, the diseased would catch them.
Rhys quickly gave up on his attempts to keep quiet. Their feet scraped as they shuffled along. It joined the sound of their heavy breaths, the rush of water in the huge pipe next to them, Dave’s coughs, and the echoing screams of the diseased behind… It felt like they were trapped in a labyrinth with a Minotaur on their scent.
Every ten seconds or so, Rhys flicked his lighter. It punched through the darkness and the bright spark made him flinch each time. He half expected to see a wall of diseased in front of him in the brief moment of illumination.
A few seconds later and he lifted his thumb away from the lighter and plunged them back into darkness. Rhys finally spoke. “They’re going to catch us at this rate.”
Dave breathed in short, sharp bursts, but said nothing in response. Maybe he had a cough in his throat that he didn’t want to release. Maybe he had nothing to add.
Rhys passed through another door and handed his lighter to Dave. “Here, keep this on for a second.”
Dave lit up the tunnel and Rhys took a heavy swing at the door handle. It couldn’t have been louder than any of the other handles, but the bang this time sounded like he’d fired a cannon in the tunnel and the darkness amplified the noise.
The pair moved off again and Rhys took his lighter back.
After another scream behind them, Dave said, “We can’t be far. Once we get to Building Thirteen, we can get upstairs and get off this poxy island.”
“And then the fun begins,” Rhys said with a sigh. Just the thought of it made his heart hurt.
“What do you mean?”
“Vicky! Who the fuck is she? What has she done with Flynn? I swear, if she’s harmed him…”
“We can’t think about that right now, man.”
“It’s all I can think about.”
Dave’s hand landed on Rhys shoulder and squeezed it. He didn’t say anything else.
Rhys fished his walkie-talkie from his pocket and flicked it on. For what good it would do. The sharp hiss of static bounced off the hard and close walls. Rhys depressed the button. “Vicky? Vicky?”
Nothing.
He put it back in his pocket.
When Rhys flicked his lighter on again, he saw another door barred their way. Like with all of the other doors, they stepped through it. Rhys gave the lighter to Dave again to light up the handle while he bashed it off.
A quick sweep of the area with the tiny flame and they saw another door. This time it was in the wall rather than in front of them. The pair walked over to it, and Dave handed Rhys his lighter back yet again. When Rhys flicked it on again, he smiled.
Dave looked at the door to Tower Thirteen and the sound of panic that had ridden his words abated as he said
, “We’re here, Rhys. We’ve done it.”
Another distant roar called after them from way behind. After he’d looked back in that direction, Rhys sighed. “Thank god.”
Rhys held the light up while Dave snapped the handle down and pulled the door open. Before Rhys could look in, the scream of the diseased rushed out.
In one fluid movement, Dave slammed the door and brought his tyre iron down on the handle with a sharp crack. The handle fell to the ground. Like Rhys had done, Dave removed the connecting rod and a chink sounded out as the other handle hit the ground on the other side.
When Dave finally turned around to face him, Rhys shrugged, “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Stopping them getting to us.”
“But you’re stopping us getting out.”
“I ain’t stopping us getting out. They’re stopping us getting out. There are hundreds of them up there, Rhys.”
“Fuck!” Rhys said and kicked out at the damp wall next him. A sharp explosion of pain ran through his foot that turned nausea over in his stomach. “Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it!” The hands on his Superman watch glowed in the darkness. “We don’t have much more time to get off this damn island. Fuuuuuuuuck!”
His call echoed away from them. The call of the pack behind responded. Their cries filled the hallway.
“We have to move forward,” Rhys said. “If that means coming up through another building then so be it. The main thing is getting to the surface and getting away from both the diseased behind us and the ones in Tower Thirteen.”
When Rhys stepped forward, he stopped instantly at the sound of more diseased up ahead. His blood turned to ice. “What the fuck was that noise?”
Dave’s voice warbled when he replied. “There’s more of them up ahead, we’re surrounded.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Even though Rhys couldn’t see him, he heard Dave as he paced up and down. After several particularly heavy coughs, to which the diseased on all three sides of them responded with their cacophony of fury, he said, “What the fuck are we going to do? They’ve boxed us in, Rhys. We’re fucked.”
“The diseased behind us still have a distance to travel. There must be at least three to four doors between us and them. The door to Building Thirteen is stopping those fuckers in there. It’s just the ones in fr—” The scream from in front of them finished Rhys’ sentence for him.
Rhys flicked his lighter on and saw a door just up ahead. Like he had with all of the other doors, he bounded over to it and lopped the handle off with a swing of his bat. He swung from memory, but the satisfying chink of the metal handle sounded out as it hit the concrete ground.
Dave’s voice turned shrill, “What the fuck are you doing, Rhys? We’ve got no way out now.”
“That was never a way out,” Rhys said.
The creak of splintering wood came from the door to Building Thirteen. Seconds later, a loud thud boomed as the ones in front of them hit the barrier Rhys had just created. The ones behind hadn’t caught up yet.
“What are we going to do?” Dave said.
The darkness made it harder for Rhys to keep hold of the panic that threatened to run away from him. The lack of visual distraction left him completely caught up in his head. Diseased screams came at him from every angle. He struggled to hold a straight thought.
Another creak of splintering wood and Rhys flicked his lighter on again. He held his hand out to Dave. “Give me the tyre iron.”
Dave handed it over without complaint and took Rhys’ bat in exchange.
When Rhys whacked the water pipe, the vibration shook all the way to his elbows and a deep boom sounded out.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Dave said. “Do you realise how much water’s running through that thing?”
“Yes, that’s why I’m doing it.”
“Are you trying to drown us or something?”
“No, I’m trying to drown them.” Another swing at the pipe and another loud boom. When Rhys sparked his lighter, he saw he’d made a large dent in it already. “They can’t swim, but we can.”
“But we can’t breathe under water.”
The two doors with the diseased at them held. The ones behind still hadn’t caught up. Another heavy thud that sounded like a horse had kicked a stable door, and the door to Building Thirteen splintered again.
The faltering barrier creaked and groaned under the onslaught of the diseased as they tried to get at them. Rhys said, “How many did you see in there?”
“It looked like hundreds.”
The door cracked again as it continued to give.
Rhys hit the pipe once more and a cold jet of water crashed into his chest. It came out at such a high pressure, it stung. So frigid, it burned.
A large lump of wood flew free from the door to Tower Thirteen and clattered against the floor. The vinegar reek of the diseased flooded into the tunnel along with their phlegmy rattle as their frenzy increased.
Rhys turned his back on the water and sparked his lighter. Bloated faces pushed through the large gap they’d already created. Bloody eyes glared and rank jaws snapped. Rhys watched them for a second.
Panic rode Dave’s words. “What the fuck are you waiting for?”
He may have had a plan, but that didn’t curtail the palpitations that ran through Rhys. With a tight chest that restricted his breaths, Rhys bounced on the spot and watched another panel come away from the door. “I need to time this right.”
“Too fucking right you do. Leave it much longer and we’re fucked. Hurry up, Rhys.”
Another jet of water shot from the pipe and hit Rhys in the back of the head. “If I let the water out too soon, then we ain’t getting out of here. They need to bust a hole in that door big enough for us to swim through before I set it free. I hope you’re a good swimmer.”
Dave didn’t reply.
One more crack of splintering wood and the hole in the top of the door grew big enough for the first diseased to climb through. The flickering flame in Rhys’ hand threw strange shadows off the thing as it bit at the air and slithered through the gap. The tightness of the space pinned its arms to its side until it fell, face first, onto the hard concrete with a wet crack. At that moment, the spark wheel on Rhys’ lighter pinged away from him and cast them into total darkness. “Fuck it!” Rhys threw the broken lighter to the floor and then turned on the huge metal pipe.
He screamed as he drove blow after blow against it. Each whack opened a bigger hole. More and more water rushed through the gap, soaked Rhys, and stung from the pressure it hit him at.
The final whack sent a heavy rush of water from the pipe that pushed Rhys first into the wall behind him, and then ripped his feet away from under him.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
A shock jarred Rhys’ body when he hit the hard ground. It ran through his bones like a jab of electricity and turned the screws on the pain at the base of his back. The cold water from the pipe smothered him. It pinned him to the floor with an ice blast. Every time he opened his mouth to breathe, it filled with water.
It didn’t matter how much Rhys twisted, the stream held him in place. His heart beat so hard it felt like it would explode.
The water stung his hands when he lifted them in front of his face, but it blocked the flow enough for him to turn to the side and steal half a breath. The breath had more water than air, but at least it had air.
Rhys coughed and spluttered as he rolled away. With the aquatic deluge, he had to fight for every breath.
The water had pooled on the floor already. The locked doors on either side clearly did enough to contain the flood as the levels rose.
The rush of water drowned out even the sound of the diseased. Rhys shivered as the coldness cut to his bones. He fought against his muscles’ natural inclination to lock up. Pitch black and disorientated, he’d recovered his breath at least. He reached out to try to find his friend. He shouted so loud his throat hurt, “Dave? Are you okay, man?”
Now
he’d gotten clear of the rush of water, he heard the diseased screams but nothing else.
When Rhys found the rough wall on the opposite side of the pipe—the wall with the door to Building Thirteen in it—he pressed his back into it and waited. The water had lifted to his calves already and it continued to rise.
Not only had the diseased’s screams endured, but their acrid stench remained too. The hole in Building Thirteen’s door had been smashed big enough for him to get out. With any luck, the one diseased that had slipped through had drowned already.
With the sound of the diseased by his side, Rhys couldn’t wait around for more to get through. He stepped forward with his hand out in front of him. When he touched the cold pipe, he pulled the tyre iron back and swung at it.
Several more heavy blows and the pipe split. Rhys jumped to the side in time to avoid the jet of water. As pressured as the last, it shot across the tunnel. The gargled screams of the diseased told Rhys he’d scored a direct hit.
Rhys returned to the wall next to the door, pushed his back against it, and listened to the diseased from Building Thirteen lose their battle against the heavy flow.
For what good it did, Rhys shouted again, “Dave, if you can hear me, we need to wait for this section of the tunnel to fill up to the top. We need to make sure those fuckers have drowned before we try to swim through.”
Rhys then stood still and waited as the water rose quicker than before.
***
Within what felt like less than a minute, the water had reached Rhys’ thighs. The loud gush of it echoed in the small chamber. He shook to the point where the rattle of his own teeth played an erratic castanet beat through his skull.
When something grabbed Rhys, he jumped back and raised his fists. He’d have to fight blind. The water took away his ability to hear or smell his enemy too.
The Alpha Plague 2 Page 14
