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

by Michael Robertson

  He had an accent Vicky couldn’t place. Australian? South African? She couldn’t tell.

  A woman with two hulking men appeared along the walkway that ran next to Vicky’s cell. Despite her curiosity, Vicky cowered away from them and stared at the ground as they passed. Once they’d stepped into the forecourt, she watched them from the corner of her eye.

  Older than Vicky by maybe ten years, the woman had wild black hair, sharp features pulled tight with bitterness, and she wore a long white fur coat. The large men by her side both carried battleaxes and marched in perfect time with her wide, flourishing strides. The rim of the woman’s coat billowed out like a bell.

  When the three of them got to the gate, the woman—who Vicky assumed to be Moira—opened it. The man and woman stepped in. They kept their hoods up so Vicky still couldn’t see their faces. The woman had a grip on a long chain, which she tugged with her as she stepped through the gate. Because of the darkness, Vicky hadn’t seen the shackled people until now, and she drew a sharp involuntary breath as the first of them were led through.

  Not quite sure how many prisoners they had, Vicky watched on with her stomach in her throat. Each slave dragged their feet as they were pulled forward; the chain was attached to large metal collars clamped around their necks. They all had sunken eyes with deep bags beneath them and were so skinny they looked like they could snap.

  The first of the chained people—a boy of no more than about eighteen—carried a brown sack with him. From what Vicky could see, they all had one. The boy emptied his out and three diseased heads hit the hard ground like spilled coconuts.

  One of Moira’s guards went to the manhole cover closest to him and lifted it up. The heavy metal object scraped over the ground as he dragged it away. He then kicked the three heads down into it.

  The boy stood at the front of the line, shaking as he watched Moira, the whites of his eyes stark in his dirty face. When Moira nodded at him, the hooded man with the machete undid the collar on his neck, and the second of Moira’s guards opened the cage next to Vicky. They led the boy in.

  A man was next in line. He stepped forward and emptied his sack. His had four diseased heads in it, each one thudding as they hit the hard ground.

  Moira nodded, so the man with the machete freed him and led him to be with the boy in the cage. The next eight people repeated the process. Men, women, and older children, each one had at least three heads in their respective bags, and each one looked nervous as they awaited Moira’s approval of their haul.

  When they came to a girl no older than Flynn, Vicky’s heart sank. Whatever she had in her sack, from the way she shook, shivered, and cried, she clearly didn’t have what Moira would deem appropriate. She upended the brown sack and just one head fell out.

  Moira looked down at it for a few seconds, the scowl on her angular face locking in a demonic glare. She then closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. It seemed to still her rage, because when she looked back at the girl, a calm had settled over her features.

  The girl shook her head. “No, please, Moira, no. Please. I tried as hard as I could.”

  After Moira’s personal guard had kicked the girl’s offering down the manhole, he walked over to her.

  “Please, anything but that. Please.”

  The hooded man with the machete undid the girl’s collar and the girl’s wail echoed through the forecourt.

  It rang so shrilly it hurt Vicky’s ears.

  “Please!”

  Before Moira’s guard could drag the girl away, Moira raised a hand to stop him. She walked over to the girl and grabbed her face in a pinch, which forced a pout from her. So close their noses nearly touched, Moira smiled. “Now, I consider myself to be a fair master, and I don’t think it would be fair if you didn’t get the same punishment as everyone else, do you?”

  The shackled people in the line behind the girl all winced as they watched the drama unfold in front of them.

  Whatever would happen next, the tension made Vicky feel sick to her stomach.

  “How do you think the others would feel if I went easy on you, eh? What would they do to you if I let you join them in the cage after I’ve punished them in the past?”

  The girl didn’t answer any of the questions. A skinny thing, she pulled away from Moira, stared down at the ground, and cried to the point where snot ran from her nose. She shook like she had hypothermia.

  Speaking in no more than a whisper, Moira said, “It wouldn’t be fair now, would it? You know the rules: three diseased heads or a night in the hole.”

  At that moment, the girl’s legs gave way beneath her and she fell to the ground in a broken heap.

  A few seconds passed where Vicky could only hear the girl’s sobs. Moira then shook her head and spat at the girl. “Pathetic.” She turned to her guard. “Take her away.”

  The guard dragged the girl toward the open manhole by her hair. The girl twisted and screamed, but she couldn’t halt their progress. He then grabbed her beneath her arms, lifted her from the ground, and dropped her into the hole he’d been kicking the severed heads down.

  The girl’s scream dropped into the tight space with her and Vicky’s entire body writhed with fear and revulsion.

  Chapter 43

  The girl’s screams and cries called from the hole as the rest of the line emptied their sacks. When it got to just three people left, Vicky froze to see the man from Home. The one from the farm. The one Hugh had asked Piotr and the other farm worker to take away. Hugh must have evicted him, and he must have survived because Vicky hadn’t heard the alarm. A covert eviction, Hugh couldn’t have afforded to make a fuss with it; otherwise people would have found out.

  Only a few days since she’d seen him last, he now looked like one of the prisoners. Sallow cheeks, lank and greasy hair, hollow eyes …

  When he looked up and made eye contact with Vicky, she suddenly realised she’d stared at him with her mouth agape. A flash of recognition shimmered across his eyes, but it vanished as he emptied his bag and focused on Moira. Three heads fell to the ground. After Moira looked at the heads, she nodded and he joined the others in the cell.

  Although the man glanced at Vicky again as he crossed the courtyard, he didn’t reveal he knew her. The spark of familiarity had been enough. No doubt they’d talk later.

  Moira’s guard grinned as he kicked one of the new heads down the hole.

  “Just stop it, please?” the girl called up at him, her voice echoing in what sounded like a cramped pit down below.

  The guard’s smile widened and he kicked the other two down on top of her.

  A woman, close to Moira’s age—late forties to early fifties—brought up the rear of the line. Before she’d even had a chance to speak, Vicky saw she had an empty sack. Tears ran down her face and her entire frame sagged with defeat.

  Moira stared at her and then at her sack. After a deep breath, she shook her head. “Ashley, Ashley, Ashley, what are we going to do with you?”

  Although Ashley opened her mouth to reply, Moira cut her off with a raised hand. “Don’t answer that. We all know what we’re going to do with you.”

  The guard by the manhole with the heads in it slid the heavy metal cover across, dampening the girl’s scream inside and no doubt casting her into complete darkness. He then walked to the other manhole cover and dragged it free.

  Ashley watched on, her grey hair a chaotic bird’s nest, her wide eyes frantic as she continued to cry. It seemed that everyone—even the guards—held their breath. Everyone except Moira, who bounced on the balls of her feet, seemingly struggling to contain her glee.

  The sound from the second hole drowned out the girl in the first. It sent a chill through Vicky and the hairs lifted on the back of her neck. Shifting to find more comfort on the cold and hard floor, Vicky listened to the calls of several diseased rising up into the night.

  “This is the third time now, Ashley,” Moira said. “You know the rules; three strikes and you’re out.”

&nb
sp; Something broke in Ashley at that moment. Where Vicky had expected her to scream and cry, the woman’s body went stiff instead and she shook. She appeared to be fitting.

  Moira looked down at Ashley’s crotch and said, “Fucking hell, love, have you just pissed yourself?”

  But Ashley didn’t reply, her wide glazed eyes showing she’d gotten lost in the chaos of her fear.

  The hooded man with the machete undid Ashley’s collar and grabbed her scrawny arm. He then led her to the guard at the second manhole.

  “I’m true to my word,” Moira said as her other guard locked the rest of the prisoners in the large cell. About twenty people in total, they didn’t make a sound as they watched the drama play out in front of them. “When I say you get three strikes and you’re out, I mean it. Three heads, that’s the rule. You bring three heads back to me and you get to go back into the cage. If you’re not good enough for the death of three diseased, then you’re not good enough to live.” Moira walked over to the first hole with the cover now replaced. She stamped on it. It sent out a loud boom and Vicky heard the faint cry from the girl they’d locked in there. “I go easy on you for the first two strikes, but if the hole isn’t enough to inspire you to do better, then there’s just no helping you, I’m afraid.”

  Moira stopped talking as she watched Ashley get dragged over to the open manhole where the diseased screams came out of. The dishevelled prisoner walked as if on autopilot and stared into space, her face slack, her eyes wide.

  The guard looked at Moira when he reached the hole. Moira nodded and Vicky’s stomach flipped to see the guard shove Ashley into it.

  A thud sounded out as Ashley landed. It stirred up the roars of what sounded to be at least ten diseased in the pit, and Ashley finally screamed.

  A wide smile spread across Moira’s haggard face.

  Ashley’s screams stopped a few seconds later, replaced with a choked gargle.

  The guard with the battleaxe slid the manhole cover back across the hole. The woman in the hoodie went to the front gate and locked it with a heavy padlock. The four guards and Moira then left the forecourt. They walked back past Vicky’s cage and Vicky once more recoiled at their proximity.

  Just before they’d gone from view, Vicky looked up and her heart damn near stopped when she met Moira’s cold glare. Dark eyes, as dark as the night that surrounded them, stared straight into Vicky, but she said nothing. Moira clearly had plans for her.

  The guards and Moira then disappeared into the rest of the complex.

  With a numb arse from being sat on the ground for the entire time, Vicky got to her feet and paced her cell. The prisoners next to her watched her, especially the man from Home, but Vicky didn’t look back. Instead, she looked out in the direction of the hilltop where Hugh had pushed her down. Only a few hours ago, she’d been safe up there. She should have seen it coming. She should have done more.

  Before she could stop herself, a hot rush bucked through Vicky and she vomited on the floor of her cell. The sharp acidic kick of bile caught in her throat, suffocating her. A seal-like bark as she fought for breath and Vicky vomited again. The thick surge of half-digested food exploded from her and splashed on the floor. It cleared her airways and she could breathe again.

  Using her sleeve to wipe her mouth, Vicky looked back up at the hilltop. Although dark, her eyes had adjusted a little and she saw something. She had to squint to be sure, but it certainly looked like the silhouette of a person on the ridge. Her heart skipped when she joined the dots and she spoke beneath her breath. “Flynn?”

  Chapter 44

  The sound of a loud bell clattered through the courtyard. So loud, it riled the diseased in the pit below them and Vicky heard their roars through the ground beneath her feet.

  For the past hour or so, Vicky had paced her small cell. The cold concrete ground turned her arse numb and gave her sore body no comfort. The swelling in her face throbbed worse than ever, her eyes sore and her nose clogged with the reek of sick and blood.

  A dragging sound of wood over the rough concrete came down the walkway next to Vicky’s cell before she saw anything. A few seconds later another guard that she hadn’t seen before appeared. He had a huge barrel behind him. Despite the poor light, Vicky saw the contents of the barrel and her stomach lifted in a dry heave. The smell of rot—worse than even the diseased—walked past with him.

  Vegetable peelings and animal bones … she even saw a used sanitary towel. How they still had them after a decade …

  The man dragged the rotting, bloody, and raw mess around to the front of the large cage. The twenty or so people in the cage all moved to the back. They’d done this before and knew the drill.

  When the man stopped outside, he rang his bell again and a tattoo of footsteps came from the direction of the walkway.

  A few seconds later seven guards—three men and four women—all appeared by the man with the food. They all carried weapons. Bats, blades, and sticks. Not that they’d need to use them. The people in the cage next to Vicky had no spirit for a fight.

  The man with the food opened the padlock on the cage’s door. He then dragged the bucket of swill just inside before he walked out again, closed it behind him, and locked the lock.

  The hungry eyes of the prisoners stared from sunken sockets at the food in front of them. It seemed impossible that they would eat from the bucket, but Vicky had never been so hungry she’d even consider it. She couldn’t comprehend their desperation.

  Once all the guards had vanished from sight, one of the prisoners stepped forward and turned to the group. The group had been silent since they’d been caged until now.

  “Whose turn is it to eat first?” the man asked.

  A boy of no more than about fourteen stepped forward and walked over to the barrel.

  After a few minutes, he pulled a lump of old carrot out and half a raw potato. Clutching the food to his chest, he walked over to a corner of the cage and bit into the potato as if eating an apple.

  Slack with shock, Vicky’s jaw fell loose as she watched the next person walk up to the barrel.

  The guy from Home and Vicky had looked at one another several times. Although recognition passed between them, the man hadn’t approached her yet. After several of the people had taken their food, Vicky watched the man shuffle over to the barrel.

  Vicky checked the hill again. She’d checked frequently since she’d seen Flynn’s silhouette, but she hadn’t seen anything since. Hopefully he hadn’t run into trouble out there. For his sake and for hers.

  Chapter 45

  Half of the bucket, if not more, remained untouched. The used sanitary pad sat on top of the swill. The crowd had been careful to pick around it.

  Although it had been dark for a few hours, it had taken until now for the stillness of night to settle over the place. The only sound Vicky heard came from the agitated diseased in the pit beneath them. The restless groans of discontent murmured through the ground like shocks after an earthquake.

  Now it had gotten darker and quieter, the prisoners in the cage next to Vicky walked over to the corner farthest away from her. No dignity left, they took turns in emptying their bowels in full view of the others. The splutters of diarrhoea and slight moans of pain joined the murmurs from the diseased. The occasional strong gust of wind threw the cloying stench of viral shit Vicky’s way.

  When Vicky heard the hiss of a person in the cell next to her, she looked up. The cloak of night hid his dark features, but she knew it to be the man from the farm. A quick glance around to check there were no guards lurking in the shadows and Vicky sidled over to him.

  When she got close, the man spoke in a whisper. “Hugh fucked you over too, huh?”

  Vicky sighed. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

  “What was it? You found out how little food we had at Home?”

  “Actually, he told me about the food crisis just before he shoved me down the hill toward this place. I found out he’d killed Jessica.”

 
The man gasped.

  “He had plans to kick a lot of people out of Home because we couldn’t feed them, and Jessica didn’t agree with that. He ended up killing her.”

  Silence hung for a second before the man said, “I had him as a coward and obviously saw how easily he banished people from Home, but I never had him as a cold-blooded murderer.”

  “He and Jessica were having a thing behind Serj’s back. Not only did she disagree with him about kicking people out, but she also wanted to end it. Hugh’s a man on the edge, and I think it pushed him over.

  “How long have you been here?” Vicky asked.

  “Three to four days. They captured me almost as soon as Hugh kicked me out.” He sighed and looked at the ground. “If only I’d have turned left out of Home instead of right.” When he looked back up, desperation sat in his bloodshot eyes. “We don’t last long in this place. If food poisoning doesn’t kill us, the lack of diseased we catch does. I’ve seen three people dropped into the pit in the short time I’ve been here. And seven more in the hole.”

  “And there’s no way out?”

  “Not that I’ve seen. Unless you have someone on the outside, you ain’t getting out of here. They put you in your cell on your own for the first night, and then fold you into the group. By tomorrow you’ll have a chain around your neck while you hunt the diseased.”

  Vicky almost told the man about Flynn. As a former member of Home, she felt like she owed him that. But if Flynn were to break her out, he’d need surprise on his side. The more people that knew about him, the lower his chances of success. “Why do you hunt the diseased?”