“You think they would have made them wider too.” Rhys drove a few feet forward and stopped again. “Whose bright idea was it to funnel a seven-lane highway onto a two-way bridge? The city may be a shining example of modern architecture, but you’ve got to get into it first.”
Dave snorted his agreement with Rhys.
A look to either side revealed the deep frowns on the faces of the other drivers to Rhys. He suddenly felt the discomfort of his own scowl. The same angry expression of those around him locked his own face tight. He should be used to the traffic by now. “It’s not like it’s a surprise that there’s queues at this time of day, but the wait still pisses me off.”
When one of the cars in the queue beeped their horn, Rhys slammed his palm into the centre of the steering wheel. He held the horn until Dave grabbed his arm and pulled it away.
“Dude,” Dave said, “hangover!”
Several more toots called out in the bumper-to-bumper traffic, and Rhys watched Dave flinch at every one of them.
While he rubbed his temples, Dave groaned. “It’s not like pressing the horn will get us to work any fucking faster.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“All right, mate, don’t take your shitty mood out on me. I thought I was supposed to be the one with the hangover. I’m sorry you didn’t see your boy, I truly am. Hell, I want you to see him every time we pass, but don’t take it out on me when that doesn’t happen. It ain’t my fault.”
“If you were on fucking time for once, it may have fucking helped.”
Silence filled the car.
Maybe it wasn’t fair to take it out on Dave. It had much more to do with Larissa dropping Flynn off at inconsistent times each day, but why should Rhys be the one that always gets mugged off?
“Are you sure you weren’t having another quickie while I waited in the car like an idiot? You probably had a right good laugh with Julie about the fact I was sitting outside.” Rhys jabbed his finger to his temple and said, “Do you even consider that I want to try and see my boy in the mornings?”
The fight left Dave and he offered a soft reply. “Of course I do, mate. I’m sorry. I really don’t do it to piss you off.”
Rhys looked across the river again at the concrete jungle and ground his jaw. Four square miles of government administration. The heart of the country’s infrastructure all in one fabulously erected industrial mecca. The place even won awards for its ambition—it should have received an award for the most monotonous place to work on the planet. He needed to change the subject. “The city fills me with dread every time I look at it. The traffic jams are like a slow march to my death. With each passing minute, I move an inch closer to my coffin-like pod in Building Seventy-Two. What’s the fucking point of it all?”
“I get ya, man,” Dave said. “Some days I feel like I’m watching my life tick away.” The seat creaked as Dave stretched his leg out to pull his phone from his trouser pocket. After a couple of taps on the screen, he held it up to show Rhys.
Rhys glanced at it. “It’s a timer.”
“A countdown,” Dave said.
“To what?”
“Friday at five.”
A heavy sigh, and Rhys shook his head. “I fucking hate Mondays.”
***
At the end of the bottleneck, Rhys forced his way onto the narrow bridge. He stared straight ahead and kept driving. The game of chicken seemed like the only way to get on. Politeness didn’t have a place here. Just before the cars crunched into one another, someone would yield. It was usually the person who looked across first… or the person with the nicest car. It was rare for Rhys to be either.
A horn beeped behind him and Rhys looked in his rear-view mirror. The red-faced man tailing him waved an angry fist. Rhys smiled. “Look at that idiot. Someone thinks they should be allowed on the bridge before me.”
Dave turned around and gave the guy a thumbs up.
The guy lost the plot. His face turned a deeper shade of red, and he beat the shit out of his steering wheel. Rhys laughed. “Someone’s a bit tetchy this morning. He probably doesn’t even know why he’s rushing. Honestly, who wants to get to work to start another dull week?”
The road opened up in front of Rhys, but the guy remained on his bumper. The urge to slam his brake on twitched through Rhys’ right foot. He sped up instead.
The line of towers in front of them stood in a militant formation throughout the city. Their tinted windows glistened in the sun, and their uniformity made for an imposing skyline. They stood like an indomitable army, resolute and immoveable.
It took Rhys back to when he first started working in the city. “It took a month before I remembered which building was mine. The receptionists must get so fucking tired of giving people directions when they get lost.”
“I still pretend I’m lost.”
Rhys glanced at Dave then looked back at the road again. “You do?”
Dave’s face lit up. “Have you seen some of the receptionists working in the towers?”
Rhys shook his head and rolled his eyes. Then he smiled. “Yeah, I have.”
***
Halfway across the bridge, The Alpha Tower came into view. White with totally blacked-out windows, it stood out from all of the other buildings. That and the fact it was at the dead centre of Summit City. The city seemed to have been made to support it, as if it had been built around it. “One day I’ll find out what happens in that building.”
Dave leaned back in his seat. “You’ve already said that. You say that every day.”
“That’s because I will.”
“No, you won’t.” Dave looked out of the side window and said, “I’ll tell you what though, it always makes me feel super uneasy going over any of these bridges. Knowing they’re all strapped up with explosives, ready to blow should they need to block access to the city. Imagine if it happened right now.”
When Rhys looked down at the river below, his stomach lurched. “I’d rather not. Although, I’m pretty sure this bridge is the one that wouldn’t go.”
“You believe there’s one they wouldn’t blow up?”
“Yeah, and this is the only one that’s a drawbridge.”
“So they could still lift it while we’re on it? The end result of us two hurtling toward the river in a metal coffin would be the same.”
“Yeah, but why worry? What control do we have should they want to do it?” Despite his words, unease churned through Rhys’ stomach.
“The question I want to know is why would they need to shut off access to the city in the first place?” Dave said. “I get that we’re locked in another cold war, but with the arms embargo, there’s no way anyone’s getting weapons into the city.”
“I know what you mean. It’s not like there’s a threat from terrorists. What will they come armed with… pea shooters?”
Dave laughed. “Exactly; you couldn’t move a weapon anywhere on the planet nowadays without some scanner picking it up somewhere. Any hint of weaponry and it’s game over. The big red button gets pressed and it’s a full-on nuclear strike.”
“Surely we’re safer now than we’ve ever been?” Rhys said.
Dave shot a puff of air through his lips and shook his head. “If you ask me, I think it’s all a load of bullshit. If the last cold war taught us anything, it’s that it’s no more than a pissing contest.”
“Too true. It’s posturing just to make sure one side leaves the other one alone. We’re all fucking terrorists; it just depends which side you look at it from.”
Dave removed his glasses and straightened in his seat. “If the two sides can keep their people living in fear, it keeps us compliant. They’re probably in on it together to make their lives in government a hell of a lot easier. Keep the people scared; that’s the way to keep a society ordered. Moreover, because we aren’t allowed to make weapons, we send men into space just to prove our technological prowess. This cold war won’t end until there’s a fucking flag on Mars, or a gerbil on Jupiter, a
t the very least.”
When Dave sat back, Rhys laughed. A lot of the stuff that came from Dave’s mouth made sense, but he often took it too far. “And there it is; the world according to Dave.” Although he didn’t turn to face his friend, he could sense the two fingers that had been raised in his direction.
A glance to his right, and Rhys looked at the driver of the car next to him. The man sat with the same posture as his and stared straight ahead. Every car moved at the same speed. Every driver sat in virtually the same position.
“You know what though? The thing that scares me so much more than the threat of an all-out war, is that it won’t happen. That the next thirty years will pass and I won’t know where it’s gone. I’ll still be fighting for custody of my thirty-six year old son, and I’ll still be working this shitty job.”
“Why don’t you quit?” Dave said.
“For the same reason that you don’t see me out with the boys on the weekends; I need the money. This job pays well. Not well enough to get me a good solicitor, but a solicitor nonetheless. This custody battle would take even longer if I earned less money. The thought of being able to see my boy more often, of being able to have him stay over once a week and make him breakfast on a Sunday morning, of being able to go on holidays with him—that’s why I do this. That’s why I do everything I do. It’s all about Flynn.”
When Dave’s heavy hand landed on his shoulder again, Rhys straightened his back and stared straight ahead. It’s all about Flynn.
Chapter Three
For twenty minutes, Wilfred stood in the corridor with John and listened to Alice attack the door. Every time it went quiet, he breathed a relieved sigh and his pulse settled. Then she returned with more venom than before as she growled, screamed, and pounded against the small window.
When the quiet persisted, Wilfred walked to John’s side and peered into the room. The glass had turned slick with blood. It threw a red filter over everything.
They watched Alice, lost in her own private hell as she paced the room. When she crashed into a chair, the loud screech made her turn on it. She dropped into a defensive crouch and snarled at the inanimate object.
John laughed. “Look at that. She’s scared of a bloody chair.”
Violence coiled in Wilfred’s muscles, but he swallowed it down and continued to watch Alice.
As if taken over by another surge of rage, Alice snapped her jaws and screamed. An arch of her back, and she roared at the ceiling. Blood sprayed into the air.
“Do you think she’s in pain?” Wilfred asked.
With a shrug of his bony shoulders, John said, “Probably.”
The man didn’t have a shred of empathy. He should be the one on the other side of the door, not Alice. Several hard gulps did nothing to banish the lump in Wilfred’s throat. She didn’t deserve this.
The intercom buzzed when John pressed the button, and his cold voice came through the speakers in the room. “There, there, my dear. Now listen to me.”
She stopped still, tilted her head to one side, and shuffled up to the glass. It seemed that her frenzied mind still recognised her husband’s voice. When she was just an inch away from them, she stopped. It was the first time she hadn’t crashed into it.
“How does she know where the door is?” Wilfred asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe she can see.”
“Through bleeding eyes?”
A shrug, and John turned to Alice. “We’ll have a cure for this, my love. When we do, you can congratulate yourself for having helped your country. The vaccine will mean we can drop the virus on The East and end this Cold War. You’re an integral part to keeping power in The West.”
John had never been more compassionate to his wife. One of the few guests at their wedding, more as a witness than guest—a lab partner in an experiment—Wilfred had watched John recite his vows as if they were an apparatus list for the most basic experiment. For the entire service, he wanted to scream for it to stop. He’d have treated her so much better than John ever could. John behaved as if marriage to his beautiful bride was a necessary inconvenience, at best. Alice had tears in her eyes the whole day. When Wilfred asked her why she’d married John, she said she loved his wonderful mind, and she wanted to learn from him. She realised they were the wrong reasons but lifted her ring and said, ‘Bit too late now, isn’t it?’
When Alice hissed, Wilfred recovered from his daze. She pressed her forehead against the glass and bit at the air.
Playing a part in this heinous act, no matter how unconsciously, had sealed Wilfred’s fate. When his time came, he’d be judged for his actions. He took several steps back and arrived at the end of the corridor by the second reinforced door. “So, we need to use this area for quarantine?”
“I wouldn’t worry, Wilfred.” John knocked on the glass and Alice snapped at his movement. “This door can survive an atomic blast.”
With a swipe of his card through the reader, Wilfred watched the light turn from green to red, and the door slid open. John seemed oblivious.
After he’d stepped through and closed the doors behind him, Wilfred listened to the click as they locked. The finality of the sound tied a weight to his heart. Sure, John didn’t deserve anything else, but he was about to end this man’s life.
As if he’d heard Wilfred’s thoughts, John turned to him and his eyes narrowed. “I’m ready to come out now, Wilf.”
For the first time since Wilfred had met him, uncertainty hung from John’s words. He’d never called him ‘Wilf’. After he’d cleared his throat, Wilfred sighed and looked at the floor. “I’m afraid that isn’t going to happen.”
A glance at the security camera in the hallway with him, the one currently trained on him, and John looked back at Wilfred. “Now come on, Wilf, don’t be silly.”
“I’m sorry, John, I really am, but they need to study how this virus spreads.”
The slight pink hue to John’s skin vanished and his grey face sank. “What about my research? How will you find a cure?”
“They have your research. They’ve been copying it for months now. They always like to have a backup in case something goes wrong.”
John marched toward the door and lashed his bony fist against the glass. It did nothing. “How can you do this to me? You’re supposed to be my friend!”
Like he knew what the word meant. “We need another subject for this experiment, John.” Wilfred’s voice shook and his face burned. “When you chose your wife to test this thing on, you showed that you weren’t someone to be trusted. If, in the name of science, you’re prepared to do this to her, then what would you do to us if the need arose?”
John pressed his long bony hand against the glass. “Wilfred, wait! There are things in my head that no one knows.” He jabbed a skinny finger at his temple. “It’s in here. I have the cure.”
Grief buckled Wilfred’s mouth. “You understand that it’s not me making these decisions, don’t you? I didn’t even know about this experiment until you’d sat down with Alice. The only reason I agreed to come down here was because I thought I might be able to stop it. But now I’ve seen what you’ve done to her…” Wilfred sighed again and rubbed his temples with a shaky hand.
“But who’ll find the cure? I know this virus inside and out. No one else will discover it.” A vein throbbed at John’s temple and his eyes widened. “You need me!”
“There’s no doubt that you have a great scientific mind. The best I’ve met.”
John nodded. Wilfred didn’t need to tell him that.
“But in your quest to understand the world, you’ve lost what it means to be human. Your lack of empathy makes you a liability.”
The glass steamed up when John pressed his face to it. “Please let me out! Don’t kill me! I can win this war.”
Wilfred shook his head. “At what cost, John? You’ve just killed your wife! She deserved so much better than you.”
The panic left John’s face as he stared at his colleague. “So that’s w
hat this is?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Alice. You’re jealous that she chose me.”
Wilfred shook his head. “Shut up. You deserve to die. You’re a murderer.”
“That may be true,”—crow’s feet spread out from his eyes as they narrowed and he lowered the tone of his voice—”but you’re not, Wilf. You don’t kill people.”
The statement drew a sharp knife across Wilfred’s stomach and emptied his guts on the floor. His head spun and he looked away. John was right.
“Can you live with killing a human being, Wilfred?”
Wilfred pulled away and leaned against the wall next to the door. He couldn’t look at John anymore.
“Come on, Wilfred,” John said. “Please let me out. Please.”
The security camera in Wilfred’s section looked down at him. The orders that he’d been given repeated through his mind; ‘John needs to be infected. We need to see how it spreads’.
“No!” Wilfred shouted as if in response to his own thoughts. “No. I can’t do this. John’s right; I’m not a murderer. I can’t be a part of this!”
The camera shifted slightly. They were watching; of course they were watching.
“Thank you,” John said, relieved.
“I’m not doing this for you.” A bitter taste rose into Wilfred’s mouth and he spat on the floor. “I’m doing it for me. I don’t want this on my conscience.”
A high shrug lifted John’s scrawny shoulders. “Whatever your reason, it’s the right choice.”
If Wilfred never had to look at John’s face again, it would be too soon; but he couldn’t kill him. He removed his keycard from his top pocket and swiped it through the reader. “Your judgment will come, John. However, it’s not up to me to make it.”
The door didn’t open.
The Alpha Plague: A Post-Apocalyptic Action Thriller Page 3
