The Alpha Plague - Books 1 - 8: A Post-Apocalyptic Action Thriller

by Michael Robertson

  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 ban
g 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 10

  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.

  When he found a gap in the shutter that he’d missed before, he closed one eye and peered through it. Staring back was an open six-inch gash down the side of one of the diseased’s faces that glistened with infection. The shock from the image kicked him square in the face and he stumbled backwards. When he looked behind, he saw he’d stopped just short of crashing into the bike rack in the centre of the shop. His heart pounded as he released a long stream of air from his puffed cheeks. With his hand on his heart, he stared at the shutters and took deep breaths.

  The whoosh of the first firework cut through his panic. With a hand still on his chest, Rhys’ heart galloped against his palm. Several more fireworks shot through the air; some of them released a piercing scream, some of them whooshed like the first. Five in total. Four more to go.

  A gulp did nothing to banish the dryness from Rhys’ throat—not long before he’d have to take action.

  He stepped forward and pressed his ear against the cold shutter. After a series of loud bangs from three of the fireworks that exploded, the breaths of the diseased got heavier.

  The last two fireworks exploded and echoed through the city. Enraged screams responded. At first, it came from the diseased far away, but it soon spread through the crowd until the ones directly outside the shop yelled and shrieked with the rest of them.

  Rhys closed one eye and peered through the gap again. The diseased with the dark-red, festering wound hadn’t moved. Like with the woman earlier, the deep cut had a yellow tinge of pus to it. The thing then shifted to the side and Rhys saw beyond it. Many of the other diseased ran after the fireworks. Thank god, their plan had started to work. At this rate, the space outside the shop would clear quickly.

  Another firework shot from the roof and through the gap between the two towers opposite followed by another bang that stirred up more screams. The mass movement disturbed the smell of the diseased and it damn near gassed Rhys. As he waited for the crowd to clear, saliva rained down his throat and he fought against the desire to vomit.

  One more firework and he’d lift the shutter.

  Although only a few metres away, Rhys wheeled his bike even closer to the shop’s exit. He left Oscar’s where it was.

  A quick glance at the cog stairs and Rhys turned back to the front of the shop. Maybe this should be the end of the road. Sure, Oscar could fight, but that made him even more of a threat to Rhys. At some point, he could turn it on him. The guy seemed pretty fucking volatile, and if it kicked off, he’d beat the shit out of Rhys in a heartbeat. Then there was the cut on his thigh… why had Oscar felt he needed to hide it?

  Another peek through the gap in the shutter and Rhys saw the diseased with the wound in its cheek had completely gotten out of the way. Just a few stragglers at the back followed the others down a tight alleyway to the next street over. It had worked! It had fucking worked.

  Rhys couldn’t stop the shake in his hand when he removed the card from his top pocket. He held it near the card reader and listened to the seventh firework whoosh through the air. A swipe through the reader, and the light turned from red to green. The mechanism in the door whirred to life and clicked as it lifted the shutter from the ground.

  The concrete hurt Rhys’ knees when he dropped down onto it. Like the shutters, it had the sting of cold when Rhys pressed his face against it and peered beneath.

  As one, what remained of the mob watched the seventh firework fizz through the sky. Like children, they seemed mesmerised by it and doubled their clumsy, shuffled effort to get to where it landed.

  Pressed so low down made it impossible to ignore the brown sludge left behind by the crowd. Wherever they went, they excreted a rancid slug trail of gunk. Their wounds seeped constantly, and what they left behind stank worse than anything Rhys had ever smelled. It stank like curdled milk mixed with sewage—it turned his stomach upside down.

  When the shutter had lifted high enough, Rhys wheeled his bike out. The gentle tick as the wheels turned filled the near silence left by the abandonment of the diseased.

  One final glance back into the shop, and Rhys looked at the cog stairs again. He spoke beneath his breath as he swiped his card through the reader on the out
side and the shutter closed. “Sorry, Oscar, but I just don’t fucking trust you. You’re a liability, mate.”

  Chapter 11

  Rhys’ legs still burned as his muscles strained to match his desire to get away. Despite the reluctance that gripped his exhausted limbs, riding a bike sure beat running. Careful to avoid the large—and what looked like slippery—patches of blood, he weaved and swerved through the streets on his mountain bike. Oscar had pulled away from him, as usual, but Rhys kept a steady pace and remained focused on his deep breaths.

  Rhys had gone back for Oscar. He’d gotten no more than about fifty metres from the shop before he turned back around. He couldn’t leave him there to perish. If the wound on his leg had been a bite, the man would have turned already. Besides, the lunatic would have found a way out and would have hunted Rhys down like a hound on a scent. No doubt, Oscar would have seen Rhys when he came downstairs before the shutter had fully closed. He didn’t need that kind of fury on his tail, not on top of everything else in the crazy city. Besides, injured or not, Oscar could fight like nobody Rhys had ever met before. Rhys needed that brutality by his side if he were to get to The Alpha Tower.

  Now they could move faster, the pair travelled with less caution and shot out of the next alleyway. Two diseased milled about in the street, and before they’d even considered giving chase, Rhys and Oscar had a fifty-metre lead on them. Although the creatures yelled and their clumsy gait hammered a rapid—yet irregular—beat against the ground, the sound of them grew more distant by the second.

  Oscar ducked into another alleyway and Rhys followed. The click of the bikes’ turning cogs echoed in the tight space.

  The sound of the diseased had gone by the time they’d exited the next alley.