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

by Michael Robertson

  After a glance behind, Oscar slowed down and Rhys pulled up next to him. He still panted like an old asthmatic without an inhaler, but at least the ease of riding a bike allowed him to move while he rested.

  “I really thought you were going to leave me when I saw you ride out of the shop,” Oscar said.

  Using the chance to look at their surroundings—and anywhere but at Oscar—Rhys cleared his throat and took several deep breaths. “I told you, there were some stragglers. If I had left the shutter open, you would have come downstairs to a shop full of the fuckers. I needed to lead them away.”

  As Rhys looked around, his face flushed hot. Oscar stared at him, and although Rhys saw him do it in his peripheral vision, he kept his eyes on the road ahead. He’d never been a good liar, especially not when under the scrutiny of Oscar’s cold glare.

  The silence had lasted for a short while before Oscar said, “It didn’t look like that.”

  “Well, it clearly was like that,” Rhys said. His pulse quickened when he added, “Otherwise you’d still be on the roof waiting for someone to rescue you.”

  “Or I’d have jumped off and hunted you down.”

  A look across at Oscar’s bloody thigh, and Rhys changed the subject. “What happened?”

  “Huh?”

  “To your thigh? You’re bleeding. What happened to it?”

  Oscar didn’t reply for a moment. He then said, “I ran into some exposed metal.”

  “So you haven’t been—”

  “Bitten?” Oscar said. “No. If I’d have been bitten, don’t you think I would have turned by now? The wound’s bad and it makes it hard for me to move freely, but it isn’t a bite.”

  “So you need me around to help you fight the diseased?”

  “Need? Don’t get too fucking cocky. I think I do more for you than you do for me.”

  Despite the abrasive response, Rhys saw the truth of it. Oscar felt vulnerable with his leg and needed someone to watch his back.

  “Besides,” Oscar said, “I may be injured, but I can still outrun you.”

  When Building Seventy-two came into view, Rhys pointed at it. “There it is; that’s the building Larissa’s in.”

  Before Oscar had a chance to respond, Rhys sped up and Oscar followed.

  When they arrived at the tower, Rhys got off his bike and propped it up against one of the brushed steel shutters. The entranceway looked exactly the same as the one Oscar had been trapped in when they first met. Of course it did, every building looked the same except for The Alpha Tower.

  The black tiled floor and slight alcove led up to the front door of the building. Everything else had been wrapped in the protective embrace provided by the shutters.

  Despite how much everything had changed, the familiar buzz of anxiety ran through Rhys’ gut; a Pavlovian response to a life he’d always hated. Even when hell had risen up onto the streets, the thought of the slow death in his tiny cubicle filled him with dread.

  A glance around revealed nothing—no diseased, no anything. They’d been there though; the streets evidenced it clearly: bloodstains, lumps of flesh… even a small arm lay on the floor, but no diseased.

  Although he got off his bike too, Oscar remained out in front of the building, his axe raised as he kept watch.

  A deep boom rang out when Rhys knocked on the shutters. The hard barrier stung his knuckles.

  “Do you wanna make any more fucking noise?” Oscar hissed at him, the enclosed space making his voice echo.

  Before Rhys could answer, the enraged scream of the diseased called out. Oscar’s eyes widened and he spun around. With his axe raised and ready to strike, he looked up and down the road.

  Rhys also lifted his weapon and waited. It sounded like just a couple of diseased, but he needed to be ready should Oscar want backup.

  Suddenly two diseased appeared and Rhys jumped backwards. In a flash, Oscar had buried the head of his axe into the skull of one of them, and before it hit the ground, he’d removed it and taken the next one down.

  He panted as he loomed over the two bodies and held his right leg in a way that showed his discomfort. Then he turned to Rhys and scowled. “Now fucking hurry up and keep the fucking noise down, yeah?”

  The first knock on the shutter had done nothing, so Rhys stepped closer. He found a gap between two of the steel plates and pressed his face into it. He jumped back instantly. Unlike the food pod, several faces stared back at him rather than a solitary eyeball. Their mouths moved, but the thick glass barrier between them made it impossible to hear what they said.

  Rhys looked at the thick end of his baseball bat and the gap between the shutters. It looked just about wide enough. The screech of metal against metal set Rhys’ teeth on edge, but he persevered and pushed the bat farther into the gap. The tight pinch scratched both the writing and the dried blood from the end of the bat.

  The bat made contact with the glass with a slight ting. Rhys had enough space to tilt the bat at an angle. Like moving an oar, he used the leverage he’d created to push the head of the bat against the large window.

  A glance at Oscar showed the big man continued to watch the street. Good job, really. If he saw what Rhys was about to do, he’d go nuts.

  With extra pressure, the window on the other side creaked and moaned and Rhys held his breath. He then bit down on his bottom lip and pulled a little harder just as Oscar said, “What the fuck are you…” the glass on the other side popped and whooshed as most of it fell to the floor.

  For a moment, Rhys froze and looked at the enraged Oscar. Then the voices of those inside the tower rang out.

  “Help us.”

  “Please get us out of here.”

  “Please.”

  Rhys’ heart beat on the edge of a panic attack. He jumped forward and hissed through the gap, “Be quiet. Keep the fucking noise down.”

  No one listened. If anything, their cries for help grew louder.

  “If you don’t keep the volume down, I’m going to leave you here to rot. I’m trying to help you, but you’re not making it easy. There’s a lot of shit going on out here and the noisier you are, the less chance we all have of surviving this.”

  Rhys heard three wet crunches and turned around to see three more diseased sporting brain-killing head wounds. Oscar kept his large back to Rhys and focused on the street beyond the tower. He used the t-shirt from one of the diseased to wipe the blood from his axe. Good job Rhys didn’t leave him at the shop. Liar or not, he needed him.

  A woman’s voice came at Rhys through the gap, “What’s going on?”

  It sounded like Janice, the receptionist. She’d always been the mother hen, the one to get involved in everyone else’s business. “Janice, it’s Rhys. Can you please get Larissa and I’ll explain everything.”

  “What’s going on, Rhys?”

  “Just get Larissa, yeah? I don’t have time to repeat myself.”

  “You don’t have time?! We’ve been trapped in here for hours, you owe us an explanation.”

  Rhys bounced on the balls of his feet and tapped his baseball bat to keep his impatience at bay. He looked at Oscar who shook his head. A deep breath and he said, “Janice, please get Larissa.”

  “Don’t you talk to me like that; I’m not going anywhere until—”

  “Look, you stupid bitch, if you take much more fucking time, I won’t be able to get you out of this building at all because I’ll be dead. Now get Larissa before my fucking time runs out, yeah?”

  A heavy sigh and the click of Janice’s high heels marched away from the door.

  It couldn’t have taken any more than a minute, but for Rhys it felt like an age. Left in the open, vulnerable to an onslaught, he paced and twitched until he finally heard Larissa’s voice.

  “I’m here, Rhys.”

  Another scream came from behind them. Although Rhys couldn’t see where they were, he checked Oscar, who continued to keep lookout. On high alert, he had his axe raised and scanned the area. He obviously h
adn’t seen anything yet either.

  “Larissa, are you okay?”

  Although she offered a meek reply, she still said, “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s getting pretty crazy in here though. The water’s out and it’s hot. It’s ratcheting up the tension and people are turning on one another. What’s going on out there?”

  “It ain’t pretty. There are zombies out here.”

  “What?”

  “I know… it sounds crazy, but there are real-life, honest-to-god zombies out here. But they’re worse than the movie zombies.”

  “Worse?”

  “It’s fucking mental. Look, I’ve found a way to get the shutter raised on the buildings, but I needed to come and tell you first. When these shutters lift, you need to run for all you’re worth and get the fuck away from this city as quickly as possible. I have Flynn.”

  “He’s out there with you?”

  “No, I’ve left him with someone.”

  “You’ve what?”

  A glance at the Superman watch, and Rhys said, “In just over three hours, this city is going to go up in a ball of flames. It’s been set to incinerate everything; I’m guessing to kill off the virus that made the zombies. I couldn’t bring Flynn back into the city with me because I need to get in and out before the place burns. He’d only slow me down. I’m here because he wants his mummy. I couldn’t walk away and let this city burn with you in it. A boy needs his mum. The main thing is, he’s in safe hands, trust me.”

  Larissa didn’t reply, and when Rhys looked over, he caught Oscar as he glared at him.

  Rhys shook his head and returned his attention to the gap between the shutters. “When these barriers lift, I need you to head for Central Station. I’m going to get Dave to meet me there too. From there, we’ll get out of the city together, okay?”

  Her voice wavered. “Okay.”

  “If anything happens and you can’t get to Central Station, meet me at the drawbridge at eight forty-five. This place will go up at nine.”

  Another scream—closer this time—and Oscar called over his shoulder, “We need to leave now, Rhys.” Oscar lifted his bike from the ground and straddled it. “Come on.”

  “Who’s that?” Larissa asked.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “What if I can’t get to the drawbridge?”

  Rhys backed away from the shutter. “You have to. If you don’t, you’re dead.”

  Her words trembled when she said, “Please don’t let me die. I love you. I’ve always loved you and I want you back. We can be a happy family again.”

  When Clive said, “Hey, what about us?” Rhys shook his head; the poor guy must have been there the entire time. At least he now understood what a ruthless bitch she was. Thank god Rhys didn’t have to deal with that any more.

  Rhys jumped onto his bike, but before he could ride out of the entranceway, a line of diseased tore across in front of him and stopped. They barred his way like a police blockade.

  As one, they stood and stared at him through bloody eyes. They breathed heavily and swayed on the spot. They looked like they could fall over at any moment, like the only thing that kept them on their feet was the desire to destroy whatever stood in front of them.

  Unable to prevent the shake in his limbs, Rhys watched them snap their teeth as their mouths twisted into grotesque snarls and blood ran down their chins.

  When Rhys looked past them, he couldn’t see Oscar. A dry gulp and his breath ran away with him. “Shit.”

  Chapter 12

  Time seemed to pause as the line of diseased stared at Rhys. Their usual impatience to get at their prey had momentarily abandoned them. It was as if they knew they had the upper hand, and although their expression remained the same—hateful, dark, and hungry—something about the way they stood there suggested they savoured the moment. Like they knew he’d escaped them too many times already. He’d run out of lives.

  With his bike between his legs, Rhys wound his baseball bat back and wrung the grip. Sweat turned his palms slick and his heart fluttered as he waited for them to make the first move. Whatever happened, they would have to fight hard to take him down.

  The creatures snarled and moaned. They rocked from side to side, but none of them moved toward him.

  Then Larissa spoke, “Rhys, what’s happening? What’s going on out there?”

  Her voice broke their focus. As one, the diseased looked past Rhys at the small gap between the armoured plates.

  “Rhys?”

  Rhys held his breath and watched the diseased as he slipped his bat between his rucksack and his back. The metal weapon pushed painfully against his spine so he wriggled from side to side to ease his discomfort. He gripped the bike’s rubber handles. If he rode directly at them, he may get out of there. Whatever happened, he couldn’t stand toe to toe with six of them.

  When he wheeled the bike pedal back slowly, Rhys tensed up at each click the cog made. Any disturbance to the delicate balance could give his intentions away and trigger the inevitable rush forward. He placed his foot on the now raised pedal and continued to stare. His tired eyes stung from his refusal to blink.

  Suddenly a whoosh and a loud wheee sounded out and Rhys’ heart leapt into his throat. Yellow sparks flew toward him and the firework scored a direct hit into the back of one of the diseased. It caught in its clothes, and the thing spun around as the projectile fizzed and kicked out smoke and sparks.

  Rhys winced in anticipation of the loud—

  Bang!

  The sound echoed off every wall in the alcove entranceway. Rhys’ ears rang and his head spun.

  Rhys shook the dizziness off and refocused. Fire chewed into the clothes of the diseased who still had a part of the firework attached to it, and the others backed away, causing a gap to open up in their ranks.

  Rhys rode straight at the space.

  A hand caught his shoulder on his way through. The contact wobbled him, but he kept his balance. Another rocket shot past him. It flew so close to the side of his head it blew his hair back. It crashed into the shutters at the front of Building Seventy-two. The diseased screamed before it exploded with another loud bang.

  Rhys headed straight for Oscar, and then shot past him. Oscar turned his bike to follow him. The diseased may have been fast, but they wouldn’t be able to catch the pair.

  The road seemed clear. Several alleyways on Rhys and Oscar’s left led to Dave’s building, each of them as unoccupied as the next. Rhys had to choose one so he turned down the next he came to. He didn’t need to look behind to realise Oscar had caught up with him. The close sound of the big man’s heavy breaths and the ticking of his bike in motion told Rhys everything he needed to know—despite a bad leg, Oscar fucking owned him.

  With no diseased in front of him and the end of the alleyway in sight, Rhys glanced behind. The diseased Oscar had fired at had only just entered the alley with their usual clumsiness. They crashed into the walls as they ran.

  The alleyway opened up into another wide road. The low sun blinded Rhys as he turned toward Building Twenty-one.

  Another glance behind and Rhys saw Oscar shoot out of the alley a second later.

  When Rhys turned back around to look in front, everything shifted into slow motion. He saw it a second before it happened but had no control to change the sequence of events. First, the front tyre of his bike hit one of the large metal poles in the middle of the road. It felt like everything sank into it on impact, as if the bike buckled the second it made contact. The back of the bike lifted from the ground and propelled Rhys forward. His arms windmilled as he sailed through the air. He put his hands out in front of him and hit the concrete hard. A jolt ran up him that kicked a sharp pain through both shoulder blades and across his back.

  The clatter of his baseball bat bounced away from him, and Rhys slid along on his front.

  He looked up in time to see Oscar shoot past. Numb from the collision, Rhys jumped to his feet. The pain would come, but only once the adrenaline had died down. H
e looked first at Oscar’s back, and then at the alleyway they’d just exited. Screams shot out of it into the street.

  A violent flutter took a hold of Rhys’ heart as he stood there and looked at his bike. The impact had bent the front wheel to an almost right angle. He pulled his hair away from his eyes as he exhaled hard and the screams grew louder.

  Chapter 13

  Paralysed with fear, Rhys stood and stared at his bike. His brain said ‘run’, but his legs hadn’t got the message. The numb ache of future pain twisted from the base of his spine to the top of his neck. At present, it thrummed as a dull throb, but it would hurt… Boy, would it hurt.

  The thunder of clumsy feet hammered up the alleyway. Their phlegmy breaths called out amidst the several that screamed. Rhys remained rooted to the spot.

  Then Oscar shot back past him toward the alley. “Oscar?”

  The big man threw his bike from side to side from the effort of cycling and shouted over his shoulder, “Run, you fucking fool! I’ll distract them.”

  Rhys sprung to life, retrieved his baseball bat, and turned to see the first of the diseased emerge from the alley as Oscar rode past it. They gave chase; they never even looked Rhys’ way. Guilt weighed heavy on Rhys’ heart. Maybe he’d got Oscar all wrong. Not only had he just saved his life, but he’d done it in spite of the fact that Rhys as good as left him for dead at the bike shop. He’d been such a dick to do that.

  With the closest alley just metres away, Rhys darted down it before any of the diseased saw him.

  The Alpha Tower stood prominent on the horizon as the only tower in the city without shutters around it. However, before he went there, Rhys had to see Dave. Like Larissa, Dave needed to know exactly what to do when the shutters lifted.

  No doubt, Oscar would head to The Alpha Tower; Rhys could meet him there afterwards.

  The only difference between the pedestrianized areas and the roads were the lack of poles that protruded from the ground. Just as wide and straight, they could be driven down quite easily if they didn’t all lead to a dead-end. They could only be accessed via alleyways.