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 37
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 ru
shed 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 38
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.
Then he heard Dave’s voice. “Rhys; it’s me, man.”
The next time he felt hands touch him, Rhys reached out, grabbed them, and pulled his friend close. He held him in a tight hug. “Thank god you’re okay. We need to wait for this place to flood to the point where it drowns those fuckers in Building Thirteen. Then we can go, okay?”
Dave didn’t say anything.
“It’ll mean waiting until the last moment before we make our move.”
The water had already risen to his groin.
“Just follow my lead, Dave, okay?”
“Okay, man. You’ve got me this far.”
Rhys’ stomach tensed. He didn’t need to be responsible for Dave’s existence as well as his own.
Within a few short minutes, the water had risen to Rhys’ chest. It wrapped him in a rigid straight jacket of cold that burned all the way to his heart. The diseased continued to beat at the door, but with less frequency, and less ferocity. The water had finally overpowered them. Occasionally Rhys heard another loud crack as they, or the water, obviously made the hole in the door bigger.
Rhys held himself in a tight hug, and the icy water forced rapid and shallow breaths from him as he listened to it rush through the gap into the basement of Building Thirteen.
When Rhys reached out to Dave again, he caught nothing. Another try and his hand found only cold water. “Dave? Where are you, Dave?”
Nothing.
“Dave?”
Still nothing.
Rhys’ heart beat hard as the water rose. “Dave?” The loud rush continued unabated.
Surely, it hadn’t pulled Dave under… but maybe the diseased fucker that fell through had.
The water level had climbed up to Rhys’ chin. It had turned his arms and legs numb. It had risen slower because it obviously had to fill Building Thirteen’s basement as well as their tiny space. The sound of splintering wood had stopped. Rhys couldn’t know any more; maybe the diseased had retreated, maybe they’d drowned. Either way, the water levels had risen to the point where he would have to take action soon.
As long as Rhys could breathe, he would wait. If Building Thirteen had the same layout as Building Eighteen—as it should—then the entire basement would be flooded soon.
A small pocket of air remained between the top of the water and the ceiling. Rhys lifted his face to it and took his last few breaths as the levels continued to rise. He filled his lungs and pulled his head under.
With only memories of Building Eighteen to guide him, Rhys grabbed the broken door that lead to the basement and pulled himself through the hole.
The water level in the building had risen to the same height as in the tunnels. Rhys swam as high as he could. The diseased sank to the bottom so he needed to stay as far away from them as possible. There could be hundreds of the fuckers down below, desperate to drag him under.
When he lifted his head to breathe, his skull cracked against the concrete ceiling. His pulse raced and his head spun. He had no margin for error now. A deep breath and Rhys pushed his head beneath the surface again.
Panic threatened to steal his oxygen and his limbs had turned numb, but if he remained at the top, he’d be okay. The diseased swam like rocks, and with at least two metres of water, they wouldn’t be able to get to him… in theory, anyway.
Rhys’ hand scraped one of the rough walls. The bobbled surface stung his frozen fingertips, but he kept the wall on his right. It helped him maintain his bearings. If he followed it, it had to lead to the stairs that could get him out of there.
In theory.
The sound of his own pulse continued to pound like a bass drum and a sharp pain tore through his ever-restricting lungs.
White light exploded through Rhys’ vision when he crashed, head first, into a wall. Dizziness rocked his world but he managed to fight against the lure of it as it tried to take his consciousness away.
He felt his way along the wall and found the gap… The stairs! It had to be the stairway out. A combination of brain freeze and the headache from the impact ran sharp needles of pain through Rhys’ eyeballs. His sinuses burned.
Rhys swam through the gap into the stairs. His head continued to spin and he lost his bearings. After every strong stroke, he hoped to burst through the surface, but he didn’t find it. The pipe had well and truly flooded the place. Either that or he was aimed at the floor.
A glance up and he saw light. Thank fuck. His heart accelerated. The last few metres were the worst part so far. The prospect of oxygen wound everything tighter as if he could pop at any moment.
One final push and he strove to get his head above the water.
Then something grabbed his ankl
e and pulled him back.
Rhys kicked and bubbles burst from his mouth when he shouted. It spent what oxygen he had left in his lungs. A shrill whine sounded in his ears—a requiem for the drowning.
He got pulled farther back.
The light up ahead grew darker.
Rhys kicked out to try and break free again, but whatever had a hold of him pulled him deeper.
Chapter 39
What had seemed like a reachable light just seconds ago shot away from Rhys as he flew backwards. A vice-like grip wrapped so tightly around his ankle it stung. Any tighter and it would surely break the bones within it. Rhys kicked and shook his foot, but it did nothing to get the thing off him.
With every second that passed, the burn in Rhys’ lungs increased. With no chance of air or escape, he let go of his fight and fell limp.
Far from peaceful, but accepting of his fate, Rhys went with the thing that pulled on his leg.
Until something broke the water above him.
Was the diseased above so desperate to get to him, it was prepared to drown?
A tight grip on his collar and the diseased from above yanked hard. It broke him free from the monster’s grip below, but his shirt cut into his throat as Rhys rushed toward the surface.
Rhys broke through the water, lay up the stairs, and inhaled so hard his hungry breath sounded like a donkey’s bray.
The breath brought clarity and gave Rhys just enough time to see the dark form of the diseased as it moved in for the kill…
But the bite never came.
Several deep coughs and Rhys vomited all over the concrete stairs. A series of quick and light breaths, his throat half clogged with watery bile, and he vomited again.
The thing that had dragged him free withdrew and pulled him farther up the stairs. Each concrete step sent a sharp crack through his knees as he slipped over one and crashed into the next.
As Rhys coughed, spluttered, and fought for air, stars swam in his vision. He vomited again.
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