The statement drew a sharp knife across Wilfred’s stomach and emptied his guts on the floor. His head spun and he looked away. John was right.
“Can you live with killing a human being, Wilfred?”
Wilfred pulled away and leaned against the wall next to the door. He couldn’t look at John anymore.
“Come on, Wilfred,” John said. “Please let me out. Please.”
The security camera in Wilfred’s section looked down at him. The orders that he’d been given repeated through his mind; ‘John needs to be infected. We need to see how it spreads’.
“No!” Wilfred shouted as if in response to his own thoughts. “No. I can’t do this. John’s right; I’m not a murderer. I can’t be a part of this!”
The camera shifted slightly. They were watching; of course they were watching.
“Thank you,” John said, relieved.
“I’m not doing this for you.” A bitter taste rose into Wilfred’s mouth and he spat on the floor. “I’m doing it for me. I don’t want this on my conscience.”
A high shrug lifted John’s scrawny shoulders. “Whatever your reason, it’s the right choice.”
If Wilfred never had to look at John’s face again, it would be too soon; but he couldn’t kill him. He removed his keycard from his top pocket and swiped it through the reader. “Your judgment will come, John. However, it’s not up to me to make it.”
The door didn’t open.
John’s eyes widened. “What’s happening, Wilfred?”
With a shaky hand, Wilfred swiped the card again. The tiny red light on the box stayed red. Repeated swipes returned the same result. “It’s not working.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not working—my card, it’s not working.” Wilfred looked up at the camera and said, “We have a problem! My card isn’t working.”
The camera stared back. The only sign of life in the cold eye was a shifting darkness behind the lens as it zoomed in.
Every muscle in Wilfred’s body sank, and he turned to John. “I’m sorry.”
The door behind John clicked and popped open.
John ran at it, but he was too slow. It flew wide and knocked him backwards. Alice burst through and crashed into the opposite wall face first.
John sat up and shuffled away. He got to his feet, but Alice was quicker. She careened into him. He screamed, and they both crashed to the floor again.
A guttural growl.
Jaws snapped.
A broken windpipe.
Blood.
Lots of fucking blood.
Silence.
The raw meat didn’t seem to bother her now.
On his third lap of the multi-storey car park, Rhys squinted against the inky gloom. As he drove, he squeezed the wheel, and his knuckles ached from his tight grip. “What’s wrong with this damn place? The sign said there’s a space up here, but I’ll be fucked if I can see it. I think they report a space when someone requests their car, but not when they’ve driven off. Do you remember when we were circling a car park the other week for nearly half an hour?”
The previously lethargic Dave had removed his sunglasses completely and sat alert next to Rhys—or as alert as anyone could after a heavy night out. He then pointed to a dark corner. “There it is.”
It took a few seconds for Rhys to see it about thirty metres away and hidden between two large cars. “Wow, you’d think I was the one who was pissed last night. Although… that space looks pretty damn tight.”
They had to pass the entranceway to get to the space. When Rhys followed the line of Dave’s pointed finger, he saw the light above it was red.
“Someone else is on their way up,” Dave said. “You’d best be quick, fella.”
The screech of Rhys’ tyres echoed as he accelerated towards the only parking space on that level. “There’s no way I’m losing that space, Dave. No fucking way.”
Several sharp turns of the wheel may have sent the car on a zigzagged path through the tight lanes, but it clearly did little to bother the hungover Dave, who leaned back in his seat and sighed. “I don’t know why I’m relieved about you finding a parking space. Monday’s suck arse. I think I’d rather drive around this car park all morning.”
The heralded car hadn’t appeared yet, but Rhys put a little more pressure on the accelerator anyway. “I know what you mean, man; especially since I’m going to have to see Clive and Larissa after another happy weekend with my son.” While he ground his jaw, Rhys threw the car into the right-angled bend. All four wheels screeched over the sticky tarmac floor.
“You must want to knock the arsehole out every time you see him. I don’t know how I’d deal with someone else raising my child.”
On the final straight, Rhys looked down at the speedometer. It read forty-five miles per hour.
“You might want to ease off a little though, fella.”
With the space just metres away, Rhys pushed it up to fifty. He then slammed the brakes on and the car skidded. The loose items in his boot clattered into the back of the rear seats.
After a few seconds and several heavy breaths, Rhys looked across at his friend. Dave stared back at him with wide eyes. The smell of burned rubber hung in the air. “Clive cares about Flynn. That’s what I need to focus on. Besides, my marriage broke because I fucked up. I have no one but myself to blame.”
As Rhys pulled into the space, he checked his rear-view mirror to see the car had finally arrived on their floor. He laughed. “Too late now, loser.”
The loud scratching sound of metal against metal pulled Rhys’ shoulders tight and he slammed the brake on again. “Fuck it!”
Dave sat upright and stared at the Volkswagen Rhys had just hit.
Rhys reversed and lined his car up better the second time. After he drove it back into the tight space, he switched the engine off and his entire body sank. “Fuck it! That’s the last thing I need this morning.”
When Dave didn’t respond, Rhys got out of the car and looked at the scrape on the Volkswagen’s bumper.
As he stood there, Dave appeared at his side and glanced around. “There aren’t any witnesses, mate. We could move the car to a different space and pretend it never happened.”
“There isn’t another space up on this floor, and I’m not sure I can cope with another bollocking from Clive about being late because of these fucking car parks. Besides, if someone whacked my car, I’d really want to know who did it. It’s a bit of a shit move to just leave it, don’t you think?”
“Everyone does it.”
The voice of his mother came alive in Rhys’ head—If everyone jumped off a cliff, would you do it?—Without replying to Dave, he leaned into his car and removed a notepad and pen.
When Rhys saw Dave stare at it, he shrugged. “I like a notepad and pen in my car. Old habits die hard. It’s a good job I have this though. It’s not like I can leave a note on a tablet and slip that beneath the windscreen, is it?”
Dave smiled but didn’t respond.
As he rested on the roof of his car to write the note, Dave peered over his shoulder and breathed in Rhys’ ear. “Are you sure this is the best way to go, man?”
Now they were out of the air-conditioned car, the heat hung heavy around them. The reek of stale booze and Dave’s body heat added to Rhys’ discomfort. Rhys tensed up and moved a step to the left. “I’m giving them my details. It’s the right thing to do.”
“What is it about you and doing the right thing?”
“I’ve done the wrong things too many times before. It never works out.”
There was a twinkle in Dave’s eyes. “I do the wrong thing at least three times a week with Julie and it always works out for me.”
With a shake of his head, Rhys continued to write. “Why don’t you just ask the bloody girl out? You take her for granted, and you know you’ll be gutted when she finally gets fed up with your bullshit and moves on to someone else.”
Dave patted Rhys’ back so hard it stung.
“And on that note…” Dave said. “Thanks for the lift, mate; I’ll see you at five.”
When he held his clenched fist at Rhys for a bump, Rhys stared at him for a moment.
“Don’t leave me hanging, bruv.”
It may have lacked enthusiasm, but Rhys fist bumped him all the same. “See you at five, mate.”
After he watched Dave leave the car park, Rhys saw the car that had followed them up. It seemed to be doing pointless laps like he and Dave had been. How long before it gave up? Rhys then slipped the note beneath the windscreen wiper of the car he’d bashed into and walked away. What a shitty start to the day.
Chapter 4
Wilfred clamped his hands so firmly over his ears, it hurt his head, but it didn’t shut out the sloppy crunch of one person eating another in the neighbouring corridor.
After a few minutes, the sound stopped. When he looked up, he saw Alice with her forehead pressed against the window. She licked the glass repeatedly. With John already down, she had her eye on Wilfred next.
“No!” Wilfred shouted as he stared at her bloody glare. His shrill cry bounced off the walls of the empty chamber. After he’d rubbed his damp cheeks and sniffed the snot from his nose, he shuffled away from the door. When he hit the corner of the space, he stopped. Pressed into the cold, hard wall, he breathed in the reek of disinfectant and turned to see Alice still pressed against the window. A deep heave lifted bitter acid up his throat when he saw the lumps of flesh stuck around her mouth.
Then she turned away and left a thick print of blood behind.
Seconds later, John crashed into the window and stared down at him. Wilfred covered his face. “No,” he said again, but the image had already been imprinted on his mind. John’s piercing blue eyes were buried beneath a film of blood that ran claret tears down his pale cheeks. A snarl hung from his limp features.
Pain swelled in Wilfred’s chest and stomach. He couldn’t have done anything to help Alice. John, on the other hand…
The white corridor blurred through Wilfred’s tears, although he still saw enough to make out the deep gash in John’s chicken neck. He still saw the crater in the side of John’s head where his ear used to be.
Wilfred clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth hurt. Spittle shot from his mouth when he pointed up at the security camera and said, “How dare you do this to me? How dare you drag me into this mess?”
The camera turned toward him.
“That’s right!” Wilfred shouted. “Stare at me from behind a lens, you fucking cowards!”
His raised voice seemed to stir up Alice and John. Both bloody faces pressed into the glass and banged against the doors.
“You’ll be judged when your time’s up. You’ll pay for this with your souls!” Wilfred got to his feet and walked over to the camera until he was directly beneath it. Too high for him to grab, he stared up and shouted, “And before that, you’ll be judged in the courts. Permission was given for one death. One!” He threw an angry arm in the direction of the door. “John wasn’t an accident. John was murder! Murder that I realised should have been prevented. But you wouldn’t let me. I realised it was wrong, and you overrode me. You’re the ones to blame, not me!”
The camera moved away as if it had stopped listening. It left Wilfred with the sound of his own ragged breaths and the bangs on the window.
As his fury died, he looked back up at the camera. It had focused on John and Alice.
Suddenly, Wilfred understood. Warm urine soaked his trousers and he looked back at the doors that held Alice and John back. He muttered, “Oh shit.” The red light on the door’s’ control panel turned green.
The doors opened.
The hot sun didn’t help Rhys’ Monday morning fatigue. The warmth of the day seeped into his reluctant muscles and encouraged him to stop, so when he saw his work tower, he almost ground to a halt. The guy who had designed Building Seventy-Two—and every other tower in Summit City—had been inspired by an old building in London called The Gherkin. The retro design looked out of place in the modern city. Not stylish or kitsch, just out of place.
All the towers stood tall and glistened in the sun. They looked like the offspring of stalagmites and mirror balls. In the right part of the city, at the right time of day, one could witness the sun’s light as it cannoned through the streets like a pinball. A few years back, when things were still good with him and Larissa, Rhys took Flynn to one of those parts of the city and watched his little jaw drop. It felt like a lifetime ago now.
As Rhys got closer to his building, he caught sight of The Alpha Tower. It had been constructed in the heart of the city and stood in the middle of a huge open square. The square contained about twenty benches and one water fountain. Rhys had taken Flynn to have lunch in the square on the same day he’d shown him the glistening towers. They sat on the small concrete wall that surrounded the water fountain.
The best kept secret in all of Summit City, The Alpha Tower hid its truth behind thick security doors, dark windows, and white finished steel. The city existed because of it. The buildings around it served as a way to divert people’s attention from it. Whatever mysteries hid inside, they were clearly dangerous enough to set Summit City up so it could be quarantined at a moment’s notice. A moat and bridges wired to explode—a city that performed simple administrative duties had no need to be so paranoid.
With his attention on the tower, Rhys didn’t see the large man until he collided with him. The contact knocked the man’s tablet from his hand and it fell to the floor with a crack.
“I’m sorry,” Rhys said as he watched the man pick his device back up. “Is it okay?”
The man laughed. “Of course it’s okay,”—he knocked on the screen and shrugged—”you can drop these things onto concrete from ten metres and they’ll be fine. Watch where you’re going though, eh?”
“Sorry.”
As Rhys got closer to his building, he looked up at its impressive height. When he craned his neck, his head spun. Made up of twenty-five identical floors and one ground floor, Building Seventy-Two—and all of the other buildings in Summit City—made Rhys feel like an ant on a giant chessboard.
If only he had Flynn’s wonder for the city. Although it felt like an age ago when he’d brought his boy here, Rhys remembered every detail of that day; he became a Summit City tour guide. Flynn gasped when he found out that the city handled every bit of government administration for the entire United Kingdom. It had been constructed in record time; although since its construction, Dubai had built their own complex in a quicker time and on a grander scale. They’d even constructed the island they’d built it on. That put Flynn on a momentary downer.
When Rhys’ phone vibrated in his pocket, he pulled it out and looked at the display. He didn’t recognise the number—it had to be the owner of the Volkswagen. A deep breath did little to settle the tension now in his stomach, but he lifted the phone to his ear anyway. “Hello?”
It was a man’s voice. “Is this the moron that bumped my car?”
After he’d let the silence hang for a moment, Rhys finally replied, “I wouldn’t say moron—”
“I would.”
Although he clenched his jaw, Rhys kept his tone level. “A moron would have scratched your car, walked away, and not left a note. I was tempted to be a moron, but that wouldn’t have been the right thing to do, would it?”
“You could have tried not bumping into it in the first place.”
A deep sigh, and Rhys said, “Thanks for the advice. Next time I make a mistake, I’ll pull my time machine from my pocket and just rewind by a few minutes. How does that sound?”
“You’re lucky I don’t put a fucking brick through your windscreen, you moron. I’ve had to come away from my desk because my alarm alerted me to the fact my car had taken damage. My boss is pissed.”
Rhys pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it for a few seconds. His thumb shook as he hovered it over the red ‘end call’ button. After another deep
breath, he pressed it. The guy can wait; fuck him. What would Dave have said had he witnessed that conversation? Whatever it was, the words ‘I told you’ and ‘so’ would have been in there somewhere. Sometimes, the way Dave lived his life seemed like the way to go. He never worried about doing the right thing. He did what was right for Dave and seemed pretty fucking happy because of it.
As Rhys stepped up to his building, he saw the queue in front of him and muttered, “Fuck it.” The line for the retina and fingerprint scanners stretched all the way out the doors.
About thirty people deep, the queue could have been worse. The security guards watched the people as they passed through, but no one had been pulled to one side. When they got on one of those kicks, the queue would be three times longer.
Despite how much he blew on his coffee, it still burned Rhys’ lips when he took the first sip. Larissa had often joked about him having an asbestos mouth. It didn’t feel very heat resistant at that moment.
Rhys swiped his security card through the reader on his desk and stared at his computer screen.
“Please make sure you’re at eye level,” the female voice prompted him.
The screen turned into a mirror with a red line that ran across the centre of it. A quick adjustment of his seat allowed Rhys to follow the machine’s orders.
“Now, please lean back in your seat so it fully supports your back. Remember how important it is to maintain good posture and take regular breaks.”
The regular breaks thing he could live with. The good posture thing, not so much. An entire day of sitting with a straight back was neither natural nor comfortable. But what could he do? Slouch and the posture alarm went off. The medical team had given him far too many warnings as it was. After he’d leaned back into his seat, Rhys waited.
“Thank you. Scanning retinas… Scanning retinas… Scanning retinas…”
Before the process could complete, Clive and Larissa’s voices entered the office. It pulled Rhys’ attention away from the screen.
The Alpha Plague - Books 1 - 8: A Post-Apocalyptic Action Thriller Page 5
