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

by Michael Robertson

  It took a few minutes for the noise to die down. When it finally had, Mistress turned to the brute. “Number seven, you’re up.”

  As the thickset man walked to the edge of the roof, Flynn felt his heavy steps through the soles of his feet.

  “Good luck following that,” Mistress said to him.

  A jaw that looked like it could crush rocks clenched tight enough to clamp through steel, and the brute looked at Mistress. He spoke from the side of his mouth in a low enough voice that Flynn heard it, but the crowd probably wouldn’t have. “And what if I tell you to go fuck yourself?”

  Flynn’s heart galloped in anticipation of what would come next. Not that he gave a fuck about the brute, but an enraged Mistress would undoubtedly have an impact on his life.

  As if mimicking the man, Mistress answered him with a similar low growl. Unlike the brute, her voice carried and the crowd clearly heard her. “Fuck with me and you get a ride off this roof on my boot. The choice is yours.”

  Everyone fell silent and Flynn glanced down at the Queen again. Hard not to look at her on her stupid throne as she stared up. She watched the drama unfold and pulled a strand of her straight black hair away from her face.

  The brute and Mistress glared at one another before Mistress added, “Don’t push me, fuck face.”

  Two gargantuan egos, the brute finally dropped his and sat down on the edge of the roof. Flynn watched his fine ginger hair dance in the breeze as he pulled the first ring to him. Many faces below stared up, their mouths open wide.

  The brute’s broad shoulders and large chest rose with a deep inhale and he slipped from the roof.

  Nowhere near as graceful as the gymnast before him, the brute made it to the next ring. The physique of a primate, he clearly had the upper body strength and reach as he swung across, stretched out and grabbed the next ring. He repeated the process until he made it to the other side.

  At the window, the brute reached out again, grabbed the frame, and dragged himself into the building. The crowd and the Queen showed their appreciation with their applause.

  Mistress looked far from happy; her thin lips pressed tightly together, her jaw set. “Number nine,” she said and a woman in her forties stepped forward. Maybe Flynn shouldn’t write her off before she went, but she didn’t look like she’d make it.

  Nine swung forward on the first ring, reached out for the second one but lost her grip before she got to it. She spun through the air, cartwheeling for what felt like an eternity. The collective hiss of the crowd pulled a sharp breath in through their clenched teeth until the spikes halted her progress with a deep crunch. Silence and then a cheer from the crowd.

  Nine lay over three spears. One ran through her neck, one her stomach, and one her thigh. Her long hair hung down and she bled out like Jake had. Fortunately, Flynn couldn’t see her face from where he stood.

  Eleven had already stepped forward by the time Flynn looked back up. She shook her head as she stared down at the carnage below. Mistress grinned at her, calmer than a moment ago. It looked like the death of nine had somehow relieved the fury she’d felt from her conversation with the brute. “Come on, love,” she said to the woman.

  Eleven continued to shake her head.

  “Is that a no?”

  Eleven nodded.

  Mistress kicked her up the arse and sent her off the top of the roof with a scream. Another deep thud, silence, and then the crowd erupted into cheers and laughter.

  The long black leather apron hung from Mistress as she bowed to the crowd. She then turned and smiled at Flynn.

  Flynn’s legs shook to be the focus of Mistress’ attention. “Come on,” the vicious woman hissed. “It’s your turn now, handsome.”

  A gulp did nothing for Flynn’s dry throat, and when he looked down at the crowd, he felt every pair of eyes on him. After pulling in a deep breath, Flynn stepped forward to the edge of the roof, sat down and hung his legs over. He pulled the first ring up, looked at the dead prisoners on the medieval carts, looked at the Queen and her icy glare, and grabbed the ring in a tight grip.

  “Come on, sweetie,” Mistress said, “we don’t have all fucking day.”

  Chapter 36

  Flynn should have done more than sit on the edge of the roof and look at the people down below.

  He should have done more than stare at the wooden stakes with the bodies of the fallen prisoners pinned to them.

  He should have avoided the hypnotic lure of the dripping blood as it plopped from the sides of each trailer and disappeared beneath the press of the spectators’ feet.

  It made no sense to look at the Queen, to get dragged into her dark stare.

  But Flynn did all of those things.

  Flynn’s body locked tight, tense with inaction. He continued to sit on the edge of the roof, his head spinning and his stomach turning until Mistress cleared her throat at him.

  The dark stare of the broad woman bored into Flynn and she didn’t need to tell him he’d best move soon or else.

  A look across at the building opposite and Flynn saw Rose stare back at him. Unlike the crowd below, she didn’t jeer or goad him. As if knowing exactly what he needed, she made a fist with her right hand and pumped it twice against her chest. It showed him she believed in him. Someone had to.

  Flynn entered a moment of weightlessness as he slipped from the roof. It ended abruptly when the rope snapped taut.

  Any healing Flynn’s brand had gone through got ripped open when his legs swung beneath him as he moved forward. He wanted to scream at the pain over his right kidney. Instead, he clenched his teeth and rode out the agony while heading towards the next ring.

  The summer heat had turned Flynn’s palms damp, and as he reached the end of the first rope’s swing, his hand slipped, propelling him towards the second ring.

  Another moment of weightlessness, this time with no guaranteed resistance of the rope saving him.

  The crowd below gasped as Flynn grabbed the next ring.

  Flynn’s arms burned with the effort of the swing, his momentum carrying him forward. He caught the next ring slightly more easily than the last. Maybe he could do this.

  Just before he jumped again, a projectile came from the crowd and crashed into Flynn’s right eye. A white flash of light exploded through his vision and his world blurred in front of him. Blinded, he couldn’t make the next jump.

  As Flynn swung backwards, away from his destination, he saw the chaos below, even with blurred vision. What must have been the person to throw the missile at him—be it a rock, or fruit, or whatever the fuck they’d thrown—had already been dragged from the crowd by women dressed in royal blue. They must have been the Queen’s guards.

  A sharp sting sat in Flynn’s right eye and he blinked repeatedly to try to ease the pain of it as he watched events unfold below. The royal blue guards dragged the woman to the side and lay into her with a flurry of kicks.

  Each swing moved a shorter distance than the one before it and Flynn eventually came to a complete halt. He reached up and held the ring above him with both hands. He stared down at the crowd and the crowd stared back. Open mouths, wide eyes, pale faces. They looked nervous. They should try being in his position.

  Flynn looked away from the woman taking the beating and put his attention on Rose again. She stared back at him and pushed her clenched fists out in front of her. She pulled them back and then pushed them forward in a rocking motion and Flynn nodded at her. It would be the only way.

  First Flynn pulled his legs back and then swung them forwards. He did it several times to no effect. The ring above him moved, but he couldn’t get any swinging action going.

  A look down at the stakes on the trailer beneath him and Flynn saw the woman who had cartwheeled through the air before impaling herself on them. Sweat ran into his eyes from the heat and his effort. His heart raced. When he looked at Rose again, he shook his head. He couldn’t do it.

  This time Rose used her hands to press down on the air in f
ront of her. She mouthed, slow it down!

  Another deep breath and Flynn tried to follow her advice. He pulled his legs back and let the ring shift a few inches with him. He then rocked forwards. He went with the movement of the ring as he swayed forwards and then backwards, forwards and then backwards.

  It worked! Slowly but surely, Flynn’s momentum picked up and he got the ring swinging again. The crowd below cheered when he looked down. They were all getting behind his efforts. The woman who threw the projectile at him now lay either dead or unconscious on the ground, ignored by everyone.

  Flynn got to the rope’s maximum swing. He did several more before he trusted he couldn’t get it to swing any farther and then he let go.

  Unlike on his other attempts, this time Flynn flew forwards with both hands out in front of him rather than just one. His stomach lifted as he rose through the air, and seemed to sink a few seconds after his body did as he came back down again.

  The snap of his body weight against the ring ran down Flynn’s arms and into his shoulders. He clenched his teeth against the pain of it. The brand on his back ripped open again and he could almost hear it smack its tacky lips as the scabs tore.

  But he held on. Of course he fucking held on. Whatever strength he needed, he had it. Anything to avoid those damn spikes.

  A different method to those who went before him, Flynn repeated what had just worked for him. He got the fifth ring swinging as far as it could and let go again. He did the same with the sixth, the seventh, the eighth.

  One left between Flynn and the building on the other side. Rose remained in the window, staring at him and silently willing him on.

  Flynn got the eighth ring swinging as far as it would go before he jumped for the ninth. The crowd below went wild as he flew through the air and caught it. A look down as he swung and he saw even the Queen grinned at his acrobatics. Maybe he’d made a new fan.

  When Flynn had the final ring at its maximum swing, he let go and leapt for the empty window frame where Rose waited for him.

  At that moment, the brute walked across the space he headed for and bent over as if to tie his shoelace. He showed Flynn his arse and completely blocked off his access to the derelict building.

  As Flynn flew through the air, staring at the large man’s rear end, his resolve faltered and his muscles turned slack. He had no way through.

  Chapter 37

  If Rose hadn’t pulled the brute’s T-shirt and tugged him away, Flynn wouldn’t have made it through the window.

  The large ginger man—already leaning forward—crashed down on his crown against the hard floor with a loud thunk that echoed through the empty building. From the way Rose bit down on her bottom lip, she clearly dragged him with all the force she had.

  Flynn sailed over the top of the brute and fell into the abandoned space. Before he had a chance to get to his feet, the brute had jumped up and had Rose pinned against the wall. Blood ran from the fresh cut on his forehead as he screamed in her face, “What the fuck? Are you trying to start something?”

  Exhausted from the past few days, Flynn pushed through it, jumped up, and shoulder barged the brute. It sent him stumbling as Flynn shouted, “Get off her!”

  The large ginger meathead turned on Flynn and lifted a fist, ready to punch him.

  Flynn raised his guard, but the blow never landed.

  When Flynn lowered his hands, he saw several guards pull the man back and pin him to the ground. It took the weight of three fully grown men to keep him down. Even then, he shook and twisted beneath their pressure and it looked like he might buck them off.

  It took for Mistress to call through the room to silence the scuffle. “At ease, you fat fuck.” She walked over to the brute, hands on her hips as she stared down at him. “You try anything like that again and you’re getting launched onto those spikes out there. You understand?”

  The brute didn’t reply, so Mistress leaned in towards him, their noses close to touching. “You understand?”

  A wince twisted his red face as if it caused him pain to back down. He finally nodded his compliance.

  “Good,” she said, pulled a black hood from her back pocket, and slipped it over his head.

  Before Flynn had a chance to think, a hood covered his head too. Rough hands then pulled his arms behind his back.

  Chapter 38

  The hood was ripped so quickly from Flynn’s head, the rough fabric of it made the end of his nose sting. He rubbed it as he walked to try to ease the slight buzzing pain.

  Not that Flynn focused on the sensation for long. Not with what he saw in front of him. A box of a structure about five metres square, it stood about one metre from the ground. It had been completely covered in both black sheets and blue tarpaulins. It looked like they’d run out of one while trying to cover the structure, so they finished it off with the other. At the front he could see an entranceway of sorts. A crawlspace.

  Because he hadn’t had the hood on for long, the sun stung Flynn’s eyes, but it didn’t blind him. Now rubbing his eyes rather than his nose, he looked at the crowd gathered around the strange structure.

  Abandoned buildings ran down either side of the old high street. The crawlspace looked to be in what Vicky had referred to previously as a pedestrian area. She would always laugh when she said that. Everywhere was a pedestrian area now.

  A look to either side and Flynn saw Rose on his left and the three other prisoners on his right. The brute, the teenage boy, and a slim woman who’d waited behind him at the rings. A man had also waited, but he couldn’t see him.

  All four of them looked fitter than the brute, and maybe the sheen of sweat on his red face had more to do with his fear than the summer heat.

  “Okay,” Mistress called out as she stepped in front of the prisoners. “Just two people will make it through this event. This game is called the rat run. A crawl-through maze, it only has one entrance and one exit. The first two to come out of the other side win. The rest …” She giggled and glanced at the guards behind her. Six of them in total, they all carried a bloodstained sledgehammer each.

  “You!” Mistress said and pointed at the brute. “You have a one-minute penalty because of your behaviour earlier.”

  The brute’s face fell slack.

  “I let you get away with killing someone on shit hill, but now you’ve tried it again, you need to pay the price. These games may be brutal, but they have rules.”

  “But they’ll be out the other side of that thing in one minute,” the brute said. “I won’t have a chance.”

  The same twisted grin turned Mistress’ face into a leer and she said, “Two minutes.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “Three minutes.”

  Murmurs came from the crowd at that moment and a large section of them dropped their small slips of paper. They must have had number seven on them.

  The brute’s already red face turned redder and he opened his mouth to respond, but Mistress cut him off. “Try me,” she said. “You’re lucky I’m even giving you a chance with the way you’ve carried on.”

  A heavy sigh and the brute slumped where he stood. He then looked at the guards behind him, who closed in while gripping their sledgehammers.

  At least Flynn wouldn’t be in the maze with him. His underhanded tactics would undoubtedly come into play when the guards couldn’t see him. A glance at the other two prisoners and he drew a deep breath. They seemed straight up, but who knew what they’d do. They were all fighting for their lives. Hell, even Rose could turn on him.

  “If you’re wondering,” Mistress said to the others as she paced up and down in front of them, her leather apron flapping with her movement, “Twenty didn’t make it. He resisted a little bit too much and got a ride on my boot from the roof.” She looked at the prisoners as if daring one of them to say something. None of them replied.

  “Right!” Mistress yelled and Flynn jumped at her loud call. A shake ran through him as he looked from Mistress to the guards to the sl
edgehammers in their grips, and finally to the maze.

  “All except you”—Mistress pointed at the brute—“line up in number order. Like I said, the first two out of the rat run will be allowed to take the final jump to safety. The others …” She looked at each prisoner in turn, and by the time she got to Flynn at the back of the queue, she laughed. “Well, it was nice knowing you. You fought well.”

  A couple of people in the crowd laughed, although when Flynn looked at them, he saw sombre expressions. Almost as if they’d gotten to know the prisoners and cared about their fate at that point. Their reactions also spoke of what would come to the ones who didn’t make it. He looked at the guards and their sledgehammers again.

  “Number one,” Mistress called to Rose, who stepped forward. While pointing at the small tunnel entrance to the rat run, she said, “Go!”

  Rose dropped down onto her knees and disappeared into the darkness.

  “Number four.” The teenage boy followed behind.

  “Number sixteen.”

  As Flynn crawled into the small maze, he listened to Mistress say, “And last, but certainly not least, number eighteen. Good luck.”

  Chapter 39

  The hard concrete ground burned Flynn’s kneecaps and he felt grazes opening up instantly. Not that he could do anything about it.

  The maze had been so completely covered, the only light in the place came from the entrance behind them. The air in the hot space stank of sweat. It left a flat taste on his dry tongue.

  When Flynn crashed face first into a wall in front of him, his world rocked from the blow as if it had been tilted on its axis. A solid wooden barrier, he couldn’t afford to crash into any more of them and still remain conscious. A shake of his head cleared it a little.

  The scuffling sound of the other prisoners ran away from Flynn in different directions. Fuck knew where they went, the twisting maze offering too many choices already.