With The Alpha Tower in sight, and no sign of the diseased, Rhys tensed up more than ever before. As the distant cries of fury screamed through the city, Rhys swallowed another dry gulp. Something would change. No way could they be so lucky as to walk straight through the city without incident.
“I need to get to tower Seventy-two and tower Twenty-one,” Rhys said. His voice echoed off the close walls. “I need to let Larissa and Dave know what’s going to happen so they can be ready when the shutters come up. It’s going to be insane. They need to be prepared.”
Oscar didn’t reply.
“Which tower did you say your brother was in?”
The enclosed space added a resonance to Oscar’s deep voice. “Twenty-four. Although I’m not going to go to him. They treat him like an idiot at work. Like he’s dumb. I think if I go there, I’ll spend all of my time trying to persuade them to let me talk to him. It’ll be easier for us to open the shutters first. I’ll go and get him afterwards.”
As he neared the end of the alleyway, Rhys slowed down. The hot sun warmed his face when he peered out. The alley opened into a mini square. Shops ran down two sides and a road bordered it.
When Oscar stepped out behind him, Rhys moved a step away. If the virus ran through his veins, Rhys had to have a head start on him at least.
Oscar squinted as he looked around. “It’s a shame we can’t drive. We’d be in and out of this city in no time if it weren’t for those stupid fucking poles.”
A huge open space without a single diseased in sight, although their sound still rode the light breeze; Rhys shook his head. “Where the fuck are they?”
“That’s not a question I’d be asking. The last thing we need is for those infected freaks to turn up.”
“But what if they’re all in one massive herd and we run into that?”
“Herd? What are they, cows?”
Rhys rolled his eyes. The quickest way to The Alpha Tower involved going straight across the square.
As if he’d read his mind, Oscar pointed in the direction they needed to travel. “I don’t know about you, but I think we should take route one. How much time do we have left?”
Rhys looked at Flynn’s watch. “Just over four and a half hours.”
“I say we go straight for it.” Oscar looked Rhys up and down and raised his eyebrows. “You got any more running in you, princess?”
What a dick! Aches sat deep in nearly every muscle, but Rhys nodded anyway; hopefully he did. Besides, it seemed that Oscar should be the one worried about the run; Rhys didn’t have a bad leg.
“Okay, well, follow me.”
The big man darted out into the square and Rhys followed as fast as he could. Although Oscar moved with a strange gait, like he still had a problem with his leg, Rhys lost ground to him instantly.
Both of them searched their environment as they ran. They could get surrounded on all sides. Rhys shook the thought from his head. It didn’t bear thinking about.
Once in the middle of the square, Oscar ran backwards so he could face Rhys. He looked to be in pain, but he tried to smile through it. “You okay?”
Rhys chased his breath. It felt like his lungs had shrunk, but he nodded.
At the other side of the square, Rhys rubbed his eyes. It did little to relieve the sting from tiredness and the sweat that had run into them. He blinked repeatedly as he followed Oscar down the alleyway that led in the direction of The Alpha Tower.
The sounds of the diseased—even the faraway sounds—had died down. Oscar slowed in front of Rhys, and Rhys seized the opportunity to walk. He took greedy gulps of air as he did so.
Neither man spoke as they moved along and the sound of Rhys’ breathing drowned out their footsteps.
When they neared the end, Oscar turned to Rhys. “How are we doing for time?”
A check of his watch and Rhys gave Oscar the thumbs up.
A quick smile and Oscar stepped out into the next street.
Rhys followed.
Both men froze.
In front of them, packing the road from wall to wall, were what looked to be hundreds—if not a thousand—of the diseased milling about. It seemed that with nothing to chase, they’d fallen into a docile state.
The acrid smell of them hung so thick Rhys could taste it. Before he had time to dive back into the alleyway, a heave rose up from his guts and came out as a deep retch.
As one, the mob snapped their heads in Rhys and Oscar’s direction.
Chapter 5
Rhys focused on Oscar’s broad back as he ran up the alley, away from the mob. The clumsy stampede thundered behind them. Growls, yowls, and cries all headed for the enclosed space. Their phlegmy rattle ran an undertone through the cacophony of fury.
When he glanced behind, Rhys saw the start of the pack. So driven to get at the pair, they fought one another to be at the front. The pandemonium created a bottleneck that jammed them tight. It gave Rhys and Oscar the slightest advantage as the diseased shoved and pushed one another to get free of the congestion.
Oscar pulled farther away. In his haste, he made no effort to disguise his obvious limp. No matter how deep Rhys dug though, his legs wouldn’t move any faster. He didn’t even have the breath to call after him.
When Rhys turned around again, the diseased at the front had made it clear of the bottleneck and ran down the alleyway. They crashed into the walls on either side. Many of them fell to the floor and were trampled by the ones behind them. Rhys faced the front again, dropped his head, and gave everything he had to his escape.
Seconds later, as the diseased gained on them, their smell hit Rhys. It turned the air sour and stars swam in his vision. He had no choice but to take deep breaths of the rotten air to fill his tight lungs.
When Oscar exited the alley and disappeared from sight, Rhys’ legs buckled and he stumbled. It didn’t matter that he’d see him again in a few seconds, he couldn’t see him now.
Rhys pushed on and shot out of the alleyway. Oscar ran down the road and Rhys followed him. Hopefully he had a plan.
When he got closer to a car park, Rhys saw the big man’s intention. He wanted to scream but he had no breath left.
Unlike the other multi-storey Rhys had entered with Vicky, this one stood on its own.
Oscar ran into it and Rhys shook his head. Fuck! He gritted his teeth, pushed harder, and followed him in. It had to be better than going his own way.
Rhys lost sight of Oscar again, but he heard the stairwell’s door slam shut and headed for it.
The low-ceilinged car park amplified Rhys’ heavy footsteps as he followed. By the time he’d reached the stairwell door, it had increased the volume of the slathering, moaning mob behind.
Rhys turned around and momentarily froze. Without the tight alleyway to hold them back, the numbers seemed to have trebled. A mass of bleeding eyes, snapping jaws, and flailing limbs rushed at him. Packed tightly together, they looked like one enraged entity.
Rhys ripped the door open and ran into the cool stairwell. His lungs burned and his head spun as he chased Oscar’s footsteps up the stairs. The place reeked of damp concrete. It made the air heavier and harder to breathe.
The pain in his tired legs had gotten worse the farther he ran. The concrete staircase set his weak muscles on fire as he pushed on.
“Come on, Rhys. Hurry up, man.”
The sound of Oscar’s voice spurred Rhys on. A surge of strength rushed through him.
“You can do it.”
“I can’t,” Rhys cried.
The door smashed open behind him and the sound of splintering wood ripped up the staircase. It sounded like they’d knocked the thing clean off its hinges.
“You’d better; otherwise, you’re fucked.”
The patter of footsteps that chased him up the stairs turned into a continuous hum. The concrete stairs shook as if they’d collapse at any minute.
“When you get up here,” Oscar called out over the reverberating thunder of hundreds of diseased,
“I’m sending a Molotov down behind you. Be ready for it, and hurry the fuck up.”
The same stitch Rhys felt earlier returned with a vengeance and tore at his ribs like it could crack them open. Rhys saved his breath and hoped Oscar would hold off on the Molotov until he’d reached the top.
When Rhys made it up the next flight of stairs, he saw Oscar. He had the door open for him to run straight out. The monsters sounded close, but Rhys didn’t look.
He passed Oscar, who had the Molotov in his hand. A hungry flame chewed up the rag and gave off black smoke. As Rhys sprinted through the open doorway into the bright sun, he heard a smash followed by a loud whoosh!
Oscar sent the second Molotov after the first. It set the air alive with shrill cries of agony as the creatures burned.
The beat of their footsteps stopped.
Before Rhys could even begin to catch his breath, Oscar sprinted past him and headed for the down ramp normally used by cars. He called over his shoulder, “The fire’s slowed them down, but we have to go now if we’re to get away.”
A deep heave and Rhys vomited what little he had in his stomach. The chocolate from earlier burned on its way out and left an acidic imprint on the back of his throat. Rhys spat several times and followed Oscar. The big man’s limp looked worse than ever, but Rhys decided that if he’d been bitten, he would have most assuredly turned by now.
When they got to the first floor, Oscar showed Rhys to stop with a raised palm.
Rhys stopped dead and panted as he stared at the big man.
With a finger pressed to his lips, Oscar pointed at the ground.
Although he couldn’t see them, Rhys heard the clumsy rush of the diseased as they continued to enter the car park on the floor below them.
Oscar brushed his hair back from his forehead and his cheeks puffed out when he exhaled. “Fuck it! How the fuck are we going to get out?”
While the larger man paced, Rhys linked his hands behind his head and gasped for breath. Sweat stuck his clothes to his skin as he walked over to the edge of the car park and peered out. They were at least seven metres from the ground; about four metres too high to jump. However, with the diseased both above and below them, did they have any other choice? Then he saw it.
It took a second to get Oscar’s attention as he paced up and down. When the big man saw him, Rhys waved him over and pointed at the green street lamp by the corner of the car park. After another couple of deep breaths, he said, “We could shimmy down that.”
The only response Oscar offered was to scowl at the street lamp and then look behind them.
“Do you have any better ideas?” Rhys said.
Another look behind and Oscar’s face relaxed. He shook his head.
When Oscar joined Rhys near the street lamp, Rhys took several calming breaths and wiped his hands on his trousers. They remained clammy.
“Go on then,” Oscar said, “hurry up.”
As if to highlight his point, the sound of the door at the top of the stairwell cracked open and the screams from the diseased emerged with the heavy tattoo of their feet.
Rhys swallowed, his throat so dry it pinched, and he nearly vomited again. The wall around the car park stood about a metre tall. Rhys hopped up on it and dropped into a squat. His legs shook and his world spun when he looked down. A metre of fresh air separated him and the street lamp. He only had one chance to make it. One final deep breath and he leaned forward. His stomach lurched as he fell toward it.
The paint on the thick pole coated it like a rubber film. When Rhys caught it, he stopped instantly. He couldn’t help but smile when he looked up at Oscar. “I made it.”
“I can see.” Oscar glanced over his shoulder. “Now move so I can follow.”
Rhys wrapped his legs around the pole and started his controlled slide to the bottom. Centimetres at a time, he eased himself closer to the ground.
Once he’d gone past the first floor, Rhys looked into the lower level. The diseased continued to rush into the car park, the line of them as dense as ever. In their single-minded pursuit of their prey, all of them concentrated on the stairwell. Even when some of them fell to the floor, they got back up and didn’t lose focus. They were oblivious to their meal ticket escaping right next to them.
Seconds after Rhys jumped off the pole, Oscar leaped onto it. The tall lamp swayed as if it would snap under the man’s considerable weight. When it held, Oscar shimmied down it.
At the bottom, Oscar jumped to the ground and failed to hide his awkward landing on his bad leg. He then glared at Rhys before he sprinted away from the car park.
A deep inhale and Rhys’ lungs felt like they could pop at any moment. One more breath and he followed after Oscar.
After they’d ducked into an alleyway a few hundred metres from the car park, Oscar and Rhys stopped.
Rhys dropped his hands to his knees and hunched over. His navel pulled up into his ribcage as he chugged on the air around him. Fire burned in his guts, and seconds later, he vomited acidic bile as thick as glue.
He looked up to see disdain spread across Oscar’s face. A wipe of his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and Rhys said, “I’ve never pretended to be fit.” He heaved again but didn’t vomit this time. “We got away; that’s the best I can do at the moment.”
“We need to find a better way to travel around this city,” Oscar said. “We can’t carry on like this. We’re lucky they haven’t caught us yet. I need to stay alive so I can rescue Adam.”
Rhys looked up at his new friend. “Adam?”
A slight flush ran across Oscar’s cheeks before his usual stoic expression replaced it. “Alan.”
“You said Adam.”
Oscar stepped forward and loomed over Rhys. He shook when he said, “Why the fuck would I say Adam?”
“I don’t know, but you did.”
A shake of his head and Oscar shot a blast of air from his mouth as if to dismiss Rhys’ comment. “I think all that running has gone to your head, princess. Why don’t you focus on getting your breath back so we can get the fuck out of here? Waiting for you is going to get me killed.”
He’d definitely said Adam. He’d definitely gotten his own brother’s name wrong.
Chapter 6
Oscar had definitely said Adam, not Alan. If he’d have gotten someone—anyone else’s name wrong, Rhys could let it slide, but his brother…? And not only his brother, but—according to him—the most important person in his world.
A trickle of sweat ran from Rhys’ armpit down his side. Dryness spread to every part of his mouth and into his throat. The nausea that only heat and thirst could bring tightened its dizzying grip on him.
With each alleyway came the potential for yet another ambush, so Rhys wiped his brow and watched every one they passed. The occasional look behind showed him that the diseased from the multi-storey car park had yet to pick up their trail. Thank god.
A glance at Oscar, and Rhys saw he walked with what seemed to be a more pronounced limp than before. The run must have taken its toll on him. Rhys checked his brow—no sweat. His eyes—they seemed clear. The slight pull back of his lips—he couldn’t see that either. If he had been bitten and would turn into one of the diseased, he hid it well. But if he hadn’t been bitten, why did he go to so much effort to hide it?
Although Oscar didn’t look back at Rhys, he wore his usual scowl. It said ‘fuck off’ and ‘don’t fucking talk to me’. Not that Rhys cared about that. “So how old is your brother?”
“What?” The one syllable boomed from Oscar’s mouth like a cannonball.
“Your brother, how old is he?”
Oscar drew a deep breath that lifted his large chest. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”
Convenient! Is that because you’re worried you might forget his name again? Rhys kept the thought to himself.
“I’ve already let you too far into my world. Why don’t you just stay focused on what’s going on around us before we get jumped again, yeah?”<
br />
The man may have been much larger than him, but he couldn’t silence Rhys with aggression. As they walked, Rhys held eye contact with him and let his hand hit the pillars. Each gentle ting lifted Oscar’s shoulders closer to his ears. Rhys hit each one harder than the last.
A tut, and Oscar spun away to look in the other direction.
Rhys looked around too. Tower Seventy-two, the tower that he used to work in and currently contained Larissa and most of his colleagues, stood on the horizon. The large phallus, an industrial-looking stalagmite with its armoured shell, looked exactly the same as the buildings that surrounded it. The large pods that used to be towers littered the entire city as if dropped by an invading alien army. They could almost be huge hives set to open up at any point and release a violent and bloodthirsty race of beings.
A distant scream ran ice down Rhys’ spine. Maybe aliens would be easier to deal with than those fuckers.
Not only did the shutters cast an otherworldly look over the city, but they also muted the sounds of the people contained within the buildings. An eerie stillness hung in the air like low-lying fog; it felt like walking through a graveyard.
Rhys hit the next pole a little too hard. The ting rang out and the tips of his fingers throbbed from the contact.
Oscar looked at him and Rhys dropped his attention to the ground. Dark bloodstains had sunk into the asphalt. Then Rhys saw something pink and his stomach twinged. He pointed down. “A severed ear, look. A small, severed ear. It must have belonged to either a tiny adult or, more likely…” he paused as the memory of the school bus massacre choked him. He cleared his throat and finally said, “A child.”
Oscar glanced at the ear; his face twisted with his own displeasure rather than any kind of concern for the victim. When he looked up again, he pointed at a building and said, “Fuck, another one.”
The lump of grief remained wedged in Rhys’ throat when he looked to where Oscar had pointed—another tower burned. Dark smoke like the kind released from burning plastic seeped through the gaps in the armoured plates. “If the smoke’s that thick,” Rhys said, “fuck knows what it’s like inside the tower.”
The Alpha Plague - Books 1 - 8: A Post-Apocalyptic Action Thriller Page 21
