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

by Michael Robertson

  “Actually, with the amount of spare rooms we have in this place, we probably can.”

  The conversation between them died again for a second.

  “Look,” Vicky said, “just let me know when you want it opened up and I’ll make sure it happens, yeah?”

  “I don’t care,” Serj replied. “Do it whenever you like.”

  Vicky let it drop as they drew closer to the gym. The table they’d set up for Flynn remained outside the room. Although instead of Flynn manning it, they’d given the job to someone a little younger. Alf—twelve years old and so tall he had to duck to enter most rooms—seemed pleased when they offered him the position. The boy already towered over her and he probably had more growing in him. He even stood a few inches taller than Piotr, who topped out at at least six feet four inches. The boy had a curtain-style haircut that hung in his eyes.

  Before they got to him, Alf looked at the stopwatch around his neck and stood up. An origami child, he unfolded himself from his seat, his long limbs like spaghetti as he moved to the gym’s entrance. A queue of about seven people lined up waiting their turn. “Excuse me, sir,” Alf called into the room. Vicky couldn’t tell who he spoke to from her current position.

  “Excuse me,” the boy said again.

  With a voice higher than it should have been for someone his size, Alf spoke again. “Sir, you need to move on now. Your time’s up and we have quite a few people waiting.”

  An average-sized man in every way—about five feet nine inches, a paunch, and white hair—walked from the gym and passed the boy on his way through. He shot Alf a glare and then moved past the line of people with his attention on the ground.

  Just as the person at the front of the queue—a short black woman who Vicky didn’t know by name—stepped forward, a man behind her shoved past.

  Alf restrained him by pushing a large palm into his chest.

  The man clenched his jaw as he looked up at the boy.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Alf said, “but you need to wait your turn. This lady’s been here longer than you, so she’s next.”

  “But I’ve been waiting hours.”

  “Join the queue,” Alf replied. Then before the man could respond, he added, “Oh, you already have, and you’re second in it.”

  “Don’t get smart with me, boy.”

  Before it could go any further, Serj cleared his throat. The man and Alf turned to look at him. “Everything okay?”

  A look at one another and Alf nodded while he kept his focus on the pushy man. “Everything’s fine.” He stepped aside to let the short black lady in and Vicky held her smile back. It made her happy to see the younger generation being given more responsibility. They all needed to grow up eventually.

  A flushed face and the man refused to make eye contact with either Serj or Vicky as he returned to the queue. They both let it slide as they waited for Alf to fold back into his seat before they spoke to him.

  “Everything’s going well, then?” Serj asked.

  The boy nodded and grinned, clearly still stoked about his appointment. “Yep.”

  “Good, you’re doing a grand job.”

  “Thanks, the queues have been crazy for weeks now. Everyone’s trying to get fit for the impending war.”

  An anxious bristle shimmered down the line at the mention of the future conflict. It also seemed to give the tired and slouched queue a little boost, as many of them straightened their backs and nodded in agreement with Alf’s statement.

  “That’s sensible,” Vicky said while watching them all, “because it won’t be long now. It won’t be long at all.”

  Chapter 4

  The guy might have been twice Vicky’s size, but that much weight—running at her like a stampeding rhino—became easy to manipulate when she grabbed his swinging arm and flung him over her shoulder.

  Jackson hit the blue mat hard and it drove the air from his body with a loud oomph.

  Red-faced from the exertion, and probably shame, the large man stared up at Vicky and fought to get his breath under control.

  “Now that,” Vicky said as she paced the blue, padded mat in front of the gathered residents, “is how you use someone else’s momentum against them.”

  She held her hand down to Jackson and helped him get to his feet. She bowed at the man and he bowed back before he joined the others along the far wall.

  “I’ve never trained in a martial art,” Vicky said as she continued to pace the mat, the plastic surface cold against her bare feet, “but I have fought the diseased for over a decade now. It’s made me calm in tense situations and able to telegraph people’s movements. I’m not saying you all need that, but sparring is important. To try to outsmart your partner will teach you the valuable skills needed in combat. If you’ve dodged a blow a thousand times in training, the theory is you’ll dodge it when the pressure’s on.” The sound of her voice carried through the amphitheater of the canteen.

  When Vicky first started training the people of Home, they would move the tables and chairs to one side of the space, lay the blue mats down, and put everything away afterwards. As the residents got used to the slightly more cramped eating conditions, they left the mats out. Now half of the canteen had been allocated to gym work permanently, and at any one time there would always be someone training in it.

  Also, moving the tables closer together had helped the community bond. Where they had once eaten on opposite sides of the canteen, they now ate side by side and socialised more. They’d grown into a tight team. A team that would hopefully be ready to go out and fight Moira’s community soon.

  “I’m pleased to see how you’ve all progressed,” Vicky said as she continued to pace. Although Serj had been appointed the leader of Home, she took the responsibility for combat and the outside world. She knew it better than him.

  “We need to be ready to go to war any day now, and all of you are much fitter, leaner versions of your previous selves. For that, you should be proud.”

  A glance over at the tables in the other half of the canteen and Vicky saw the remains of breakfast. Most mornings they did breakfast from seven till nine, but on a Tuesday, when Vicky had her meetings, they did it from six thirty till eight. Everyone had to be done by eight and ready. She didn’t normally adopt an authoritarian approach, but the discipline seemed to help the residents get in the zone. As a result, breakfast never got cleared away on a Tuesday until after training. “We have a new guard I’d like to introduce you all to.”

  With a beckoning hand, Vicky encouraged the lady to step forward. “This is Scoop,” Vicky said. “Most of you know her, but for those who don’t, just take her in for a moment.”

  A lean and toned woman of Jamaican descent, Scoop had dreadlocks down to her arse and a scowl that could level cities. Despite knowing most of them, she looked at the gathered people like she’d fight anyone who wanted it. Although in truth, she had a heart of gold. Once she let you in, she never let go, and now she’d joined the guards, Home would be a safer place.

  “Scoop’s daughter, Meisha, is fourteen now and old enough to take better care of herself,” Vicky said. “It’s given Scoop more time. Where she’s always wanted to help out, she now can.”

  Vicky watched Scoop’s hard scowl lift when she looked at her daughter. The heavy set spread into a broad smile and then dropped again as quickly as it had appeared when she continued to look down the line.

  “Now before we get to training, I want to spar with someone else.” A look up and down at the gathered residents and Vicky put her hands on her hips. “I need a volunteer. Who wants to test their skills?”

  A man named William stepped forward. At over six feet tall, he stood a good eight inches above Vicky. Wide-shouldered and with thick biceps, he nodded at her. “Are you sure you want me to go for you?”

  “You can try.”

  The man laughed, as did a few other men in the crowd. They never seemed to learn, their male ego always telling them they had the beating of a woman.
/>   “I needed to check,” he said.

  “No, you didn’t.” Vicky widened her stance and stared at William. About thirty metres of blue crash mat separated them, so she beckoned him forward. Like the last man, William charged at her.

  “Moira’s community haven’t attacked yet,” Vicky said as she felt the vibration of William’s heavy footfalls rush towards her through the mats, “but they will.”

  Just a few metres separated them and William wound back, his punch coming from a mile off. When he swung, Vicky dropped to the ground and rolled away from him.

  Several steps past her, William spun around and scowled.

  “Does anyone have any questions about what we’re going to face soon?”

  William came at Vicky again. She had most of her attention on the man, but she still noticed the raised hand from one of the residents. Even if she hadn’t, the collective groan said it all.

  A much better attempt at masking his attack, Vicky still saw William’s fake lunge and jumped to the side to avoid the real punch from his left hand. Before he’d passed her, she dropped down and swiped his legs away. A second later, the ground shook when he hit it.

  “Ignore them, Stuart,” Vicky said to the slightly podgy man with the raised hand.

  Stuart nodded and asked one of the many questions he’d no doubt ask that day. “How many people are there in Moira’s community?”

  When Vicky had worked in an office, she’d hated meetings the most. They’d always moved at a glacial pace, as everyone had to stay with the tempo of the stupidest person in the room. It had been even more galling when the thickest person there had been her boss. However, now she had to lead the meetings, she had a fresh perspective on it. Sure, Stuart didn’t have it going on upstairs, but he had something to offer. Simply being willing and able would make him an asset on the battlefield. She couldn’t treat him like everyone else did because he’d be by her side when she needed it most. “I still don’t know that,” she said.

  “You don’t even have a rough idea?”

  “No.”

  William came at Vicky from behind. At the last minute, she dodged to the right. The haymaker swooshed through the air above Vicky’s head.

  As if to teach him a lesson, Vicky jumped back up and kicked him up the arse on his way through.

  “How many prisoners, then?” Stuart asked.

  “Jesus, Stuart,” one of the other men—maybe Ben, but Vicky couldn’t remember his name—said. “How many times do you want to ask the same bloody questions? What do you want Vicky to say to you?”

  “I … I don’t know. I just thought she might have gone past the community on her travels and have more information. I’d like to know what we’re going into.”

  “Hell,” Ben said. “We’re going into hell.”

  Vicky stepped in to diffuse the situation. “I’d imagine she has about twenty still, Stuart. I haven’t been back since they trapped me, but from what I saw, the number of prisoners changes all the time. She kills some, she finds some more, she kills some …”

  Another rhino charge came from over Vicky’s right shoulder, which she avoided. As William shot past her, she said, “You need to get lighter on your feet. You ain’t sneaking up on anything if you move like that.” It didn’t help that he stank of sweat too, but she kept that to herself.

  Shame, anger, tiredness … whatever had set fire to William’s cheeks looked like it had taken root. A fury burned in his eyes.

  “You can go back against the wall now, William. And remember to work on your movement. I’ve no doubt you hit like a steam train, you just need to make sure you can move with enough stealth to land one of your punches.”

  As William found his place against the wall, Vicky looked over at Flynn and pulled a tight smile. The boy returned the same tense gesture. They’d not spoken since she’d moved him to his new room two days ago.

  The children lined up at the end, as they had done since Vicky started her meetings. She walked over to them and smiled at their chubby faces as she continued to address the room. “It’s been working well to take the children outside of Home. I think it’s important they understand what we’re up against from a young age. Who knows when they’ll need to fight. If they’re ready for it now, then hopefully it’ll save lives. Although I don’t think we should take them any farther than the solar panels at the moment.” If any of the residents ventured too far, they might find the pen of diseased. That would be a hard one to explain to the group. They hadn’t even told the other guards about it yet.

  When Vicky got near the corner of the room, she looked at the collection of spears resting there. The tip of each one—made from different types of scavenged metal—caught the light. The world had an abundance of cutlery, tin cans, and scraps of cars, so they’d taken everything they could find, sharpened them into points, and attached them to long, straight sticks. She picked up a particularly large one and looked down its length like she would a snooker cue. “This collection is coming along nicely. These spears could be the difference between life and death, so keep making them.”

  After she’d replaced the spear, Vicky looked along the line at the people. “Before we start training for the day, does anyone have any questions?”

  Everyone turned to look at Stuart. His pale face turned crimson and he shook his head.

  “Good,” Vicky said. “Serj and I will go to the local town later on today. We need to get a few supplies. We’re not taking requests, I’m afraid; we won’t be able to carry it all.”

  The glare from Flynn tugged on Vicky’s attention and she turned to look at the boy. He seemed pissed, like he expected to go out with them too.

  “Although we won’t be here, Scoop, Piotr, and Flynn will, and they’ll be able to help anyone who needs it.”

  Vicky clapped her hands together and the sound carried through the open space. “Right, well done, everyone. Keep up the good work and we’ll keep you informed of when we plan to attack Moira’s community.”

  Vicky then left the canteen and headed for her room. Covered in the sweat of the two guys she’d sparred with, she needed to shower and get some clean clothes on.

  Chapter 5

  “It’s hard to believe this used to be a road,” Vicky said to Serj as they walked, the long grass up to her waist. “Were it not for all these cars, it’d be impossible to tell.”

  Sweat glistened on Serj’s brow and he breathed heavily from their fast pace. “What I’d give to be able to drive a car into town now,” he said.

  The ruins of what used to be the local town stood on the horizon. Vicky squinted against the bright sun as she focused on the tall glassless tower that dominated the skyline. “I like to think of the days when cars queued on this road to get in and out of town,” she said.

  Serj’s dark hair danced in the strong wind and he squinted from where it lashed against his eyes. “You like to think of traffic jams?”

  “Life was simpler then, you know? We had our worries, sure, and maybe it didn’t feel simpler at the time, but hindsight being a wonderful thing and all that …”

  Shrugging, Serj pulled a tight-lipped smile.

  Vicky rolled her shoulders to help her crossbow sit more comfortably on her back. She reached down to touch the knife strapped to her belt. Paranoid she wouldn’t be able to grab it in an emergency, she’d already touched the handle for reassurance about fifty times in the past twenty minutes.

  “Do you ever worry about upsetting the people in Home?” Serj asked.

  It felt good to stretch her legs, and Vicky drew a deep breath of the fresh outside air before she responded. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know …” Serj cleared his throat.

  “No. What?”

  “You’re quite … direct. You don’t take any shit, which I admire, but don’t you worry it’s not good for morale?”

  “Fuck morale.”

  Serj flinched at the comment and then smiled. “See what I mean?”

  Vicky laughed
. “Okay, maybe not fuck morale, but I’m more concerned about getting the people of Home ready to fight. If they resent me for it and survive, then so be it. If I go too easy on them, they’ll die. And more importantly, the people I love will die.”

  “Flynn, you mean?”

  “Of course. I’ll do anything to protect him. So if I need to ruffle a few feathers now to save lives in the future, then so be it. I’m not here to make friends. At least, not until Moira’s community has fallen.” Vicky checked her knife again.

  “But you still have to live with them.”

  The conversation faded away and Vicky listened to the sounds of nature around them. The caw of a crow, the swooshing of the long grass, the scuff of their boots as they walked over the hard road surface. They might not have been able to see it, and it had plenty of cracks running through it, but after being chased through uneven fields by the diseased, the ground definitely felt like a road.

  As they entered the town, Vicky looked up at the large round-fronted office block she’d seen from miles away. It looked as she remembered it … a framework of steel, smashed windows, abandoned desks, chairs, wastepaper baskets. A yellowed sheet of newspaper skittered across the road in front of them as they walked beneath an old railway bridge. For some reason the grass hadn’t pushed through the road as successfully here. Tufts sprouted through cracks, but on the whole, the roads remained usable. Not that she’d seen any working vehicles in a long time.

  To look up at the top of the building from the ground hurt the back of Vicky’s neck and made her dizzy. Desperation had driven her to hang from such a high spot when her and Hugh had been chased up there; nothing else would have brought that out in her.

  Several broken bodies lay on the ground in front of them. All of them had the look of twisted horror synonymous with the diseased. Rigor mortis had frozen their pained expressions as they cured in the sunshine.

  A look across at Serj and Vicky saw him taking the scene in. “It was here when I realised something was up with him.”