The Alpha Plague: A Post-Apocalyptic Action Thriller

by Michael Robertson

  The hot sun beat down on Rhys as he caught his breath. He watched the diseased across the metre and a half of empty space that separated the two buildings. Most of them could jump it if they put their minds to it. But therein lay the problem; they didn’t have minds, at least not ones that could perform any kind of function other than run and attack.

  Rhys hawked up a ball of phlegm. It tasted stale in his dry mouth. He stepped close to the edge and spat across at them. It missed, but despite their obvious lack of mental function, it did something to incite them further. After he’d shown them the back of his middle finger, Rhys said, “Fuck you,” and left the roof.

  The second building had no door to block access to the roof. Once Rhys entered it, the dust clogged his sinuses and he sneezed. When he looked down the spiral concrete staircase, his stomach lurched and his head spun. Without any railings to hold onto, the prospect of a quick descent daunted him much more than the effort of running up them had.

  At the bottom of the second flight of stairs, tiredness got the better of him. He stumbled and fell into the opposite wall. He paused for a moment and panted as he listened to the groans and moans from the top of the first tower. He had to get up and keep going.

  ***

  When Rhys got to the bottom of the second tower, he paused and leaned against a wall. Despite deep breaths, he couldn’t get enough oxygen into his body, but he couldn’t hang around either.

  Rhys poked his head outside and glanced up at the top of the first tower. The bright sun stung his eyes, but he continued to look up the tall building. Without the motivation of the crazed mob behind him, there was no way he would have jumped a gap that high from the ground. As a kid, he always avoided the free-running clubs—hell, he didn’t even climb ladders if he didn’t have to.

  The diseased continued to gather at the top and reach across the gap exactly as they had done on the car park. The stupid bastards clearly thought he would reappear at some point—long may that continue. If those things had brains too, they would be the ultimate killing machines. The fact they had empathy for one another gave him chills.

  The sound of rapid footsteps forced Rhys back inside the second tower and into the shadows. Seconds later, two more slathering, slobbering, diseased ex-humans shot straight into the entrance of the first building and disappeared up the stairs. The entire building shook from the sheer weight of numbers that continued to run up it. If only the structure would collapse now.

  Rhys didn’t know how much time he had. The diseased could spend the next day at the top of the first tower as they waited for him to reappear. On the other hand, they could work it out in five minutes and Summit City would be awash with them again.

  Rhys’ heart damn near exploded, and he jumped backwards when a loud thud hit the ground nearby. A shake took a hold of him when he poked his head around the corner to find the broken body of a diseased. Next to the couple that fell from the roof earlier, it lay motionless save for its bloody eyes that rolled in its head before they looked straight at Rhys. Fury and frustration glared at him in equal measure, but thankfully, its voice didn’t work.

  Another one hit the ground and kicked up a cloud of dust. The impact killed it immediately. A glance up at the top of the first tower, and Rhys saw the problem.

  Thud!

  Another one hit the ground. A woman this time.

  The pack at the top of the first tower continued to reach across the gap as they had done at the car park. However, with the first tower still shaking from the sheer weight of diseased that ran up it, space seemed to run out up there. Every few seconds a new one fell.

  Thud!

  A small girl.

  Thud!

  An old man.

  Thud!

  A young woman.

  It was like watching the coin machines at the fair with the drawers that moved.

  Thud!

  If one had landed and still had the use of its eyes, it may not be long before one still had the use of its voice.

  Thud!

  On high alert, Rhys stepped away from the bodies and toward the florist’s shop. He had to go now.

  ***

  To stay out of the line of sight of the diseased on the roof, Rhys ran close to a wall that led most of the way there.

  Once he got to the first corner, he peered around it. Nothing; it seemed that every single one of diseased in the area had run up the tower.

  He chanced another look back at the first tower and watched them continue to reach across the gap between the two buildings. They continued to fall.

  “Stupid bastards,” Rhys said. Although, all it took was for one of them to see him… he never wanted to hear one of those fuckers scream again. A chill snapped through him at the thought of that sound. He needed to get to Flynn now.

  Rhys looked around the corner toward the florist’s one final time. The coast seemed clear. A quick knock on the shutter and Vicky would open up. Then they could get out of there. He’d heard the person in the food booth, so surely Vicky would hear him.

  Three, two, one. Rhys took off around the corner and stopped dead instantly. The wind left his body and his jaw hung loose as he stared.

  The shutter had already been opened. The empty shop had been painted red with blood.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The walls, the floor, the doorway that lead to the roof… blood covered the lot. There had been a struggle and someone had most definitely lost.

  When Rhys poked his head inside, he balked at the mix of a metallic tang of fresh blood and the diseased reek of rot. Then he saw it… her.

  Face down on the floor, in an ever-increasing pool of her own blood, he saw Vicky. Her blonde curls splayed away from her in a twisted halo that stretched out like the intertwined roots of a tree. The thick blood stood in stark contrast to her fair hair.

  A lump rose in his throat. She’d only had to wait and he would have been there. She must have opened the shutter too early.

  Another look at the top of the first undeveloped tower showed the roof still crammed with the diseased, and Rhys’ vision blurred.

  Rhys had to go. One last look at Vicky, and his lip buckled. Warm tears ran down his cheeks. A wet sniff, and he wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. Then he took off in the direction of the drawbridge.

  ***

  Grief and exhaustion turned Rhys’ legs bandy as he ran. He should have told Vicky how he felt about her. Although ‘should haves’ didn’t get him anywhere. Besides, grieving wasn’t an option at that moment; he had to get to his son. Nothing had changed in that respect.

  With the diseased still crammed on the roof of the first tower, Rhys took the most direct line to the bridge. The open space he had to run across left him in plain sight of the diseased, but he needed to get off the island immediately.

  As he ran, he cried. Without breaking stride, he wiped his streaming eyes and pushed on. When he and Flynn were safe, he could deal with his emotions about Vicky. Until then, he had to keep going.

  ***

  When Rhys arrived at the bridge, exhausted and out of breath, he saw the baseball bats had vanished. “What the hell?” He did a quick scan of his surroundings but couldn’t see them anywhere.

  Tension crawled up his back and held on. It didn’t matter what he told himself, he couldn’t avoid the obvious conclusion—the disappearance of the bats had nothing to do with the diseased; someone had taken them. Yet he couldn’t see anyone around, so whoever had taken them had clearly done so and fucked off.

  When someone tapped his shoulder, Rhys’ pulse spiked, and he spun around with his fists raised. Tears still blurred his sight and stung his eyes. It took several blinks before he trusted his vision. “Vicky?” Before she could respond, he said, “I thought you were dead.”

  She laughed and handed him his bat. “What made you think that?”

  Rhys pointed at the florist’s. “There’s a dead body in the shop. About your height and build; it even has your hair.”

  �
��Oh shit,” Vicky said as she clamped a hand over her mouth, “you thought that was me? I’m sorry; that was the florist. She was trapped inside her shop when I busted in. Two diseased followed me under the shutter and attacked her first. It gave me the time to find a weapon.” Her body slumped as she looked down and sighed. “She didn’t stand a chance. After I killed them, I had to take the florist out too.”

  When his vision cleared, Rhys looked at the patches of blood all over Vicky’s clothes. Two brown stains as big as pizzas sat on either thigh.

  The tears came back, so Rhys wiped his face. “Look at me, I’m a bloody mess. Sorry, it’s been a long day.”

  Vicky took one of his hands. “I’m fine, honey, you don’t need to worry anymore. I watched you lead the diseased into the other building from the roof of the florist’s. By the time you’d jumped across, most of them had followed you inside. It was the perfect opportunity for me to get the fuck out of there. I had no way of telling you that, sorry.”

  Rhys moved forward and wrapped her in a tight hug. He squeezed so hard she made a fake choking noise. “It’s okay. You’re alive, that’s all that matters.”

  As he pulled away, he kissed her cheek. Despite the blood all over her, she still smelled of her perfume, a fresh floral mix that reminded him of a summer breeze.

  Without a word between them, the pair stared at one another, their faces close. Rhys’ heart beat hard.

  When Vicky leaned forwards, Rhys didn’t need any more of an excuse.

  The kiss stimulated a spike of adrenaline. After a day of anxiety, euphoria rushed through him. Everything else vanished at that moment, and it left just them in the world. For the briefest of seconds, there were no diseased, no death, no fear.

  When they broke apart, the sweet taste of Vicky remained on Rhys’ lips.

  Vicky smiled. “Thank you for saving me.”

  Rhys held her waist and smiled back. “I had to pay you back for all you’ve done for me.” His cheeks burned. “With rescuing you I mean—not the kiss. That wasn’t paying you back. Oh, god, shall I just shut up now?”

  Vicky laughed. “Come on, lover-boy; we have a six year old who needs our help.”

  A quick nod, and he pulled away from Vicky. When he leaned over the side of the bridge, he saw past the raised section and had a clear view of the drawbridge’s control tower. He waved his arms in the air so those in the control box could see him. They had time to lower it and let them across before the diseased twigged.

  But the bridge didn’t move.

  Rhys tried again and jumped up and down as he waved his arms.

  Still nothing.

  “What the fuck?”

  Vicky moved to his side. “What are you trying to do?”

  “I need the officer on the other side to lower the bridge so we can get across.”

  After she’d leaned forward, Vicky squinted and looked across the bridge. “There’s no one in the booth.”

  “What?” Rhys looked again, his eyesight evidently not as good as hers. It didn’t help that the windows of the booth were filthy. “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Rhys looked up at the overcrowded roof of the first tower and then down at the wide river. The answer to his question stared back at him, yet he asked it anyway. “What are we going to do now?”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The pair moved a few steps down the riverbank on the side of the bridge farthest away from the tower with the diseased on top. They crouched down out of their view.

  A violent shake ran through Rhys’ legs as he squatted next to Vicky. It made him look more scared than he felt, although not by much. “The river’s the only way across,” he said as he searched their surroundings. No more than a grassy hill, the riverbank left few places for the diseased to hide. “But the current’s too rough for us to swim. There must be somewhere we can get…”—then he saw it—”Look, Vicky, there’s a row boat down there. It’s been dragged onto the riverbank. How hard can it be to get it back into the water?”

  After she’d looked at the boat, Vicky nodded. “Okay, let’s do it. I want off this goddamned island and the diseased can’t swim, so it makes sense.”

  A quick peek over the wall, and Rhys saw that the diseased on the roof hadn’t noticed them yet. They still reached across the gap. They still roared and screamed. They still fell from the edge like lemmings.

  “Come on,” he said, “they haven’t twigged yet, let’s go.” With that, he started his descent down the riverbank to the abandoned boat.

  As Rhys ran, he checked behind in case something followed them over. He saw trees along the pavement, parked cars, and the tops of the food pods. The diseased could come from anywhere. He glanced at the tower again; they still hadn’t seen them.

  They travelled so far down the bank that they couldn’t see the diseased on the tower anymore, even though the air remained alive with their furious calls.

  As they got closer to the boat, new sounds competed with the groans of the diseased: the sound of lapping water and their footsteps as they squelched over the soft ground. It never truly banished the background hum of the diseased that ran as an undercurrent of horror and served as a potent reminder that they were never safe. It almost dared them to drop their guard, to relax and take their safety for granted… to think they had the monsters beat, but the second they did, the diseased would be on their backs.

  When Rhys turned to look at Vicky behind him, his entire world rocked as if he’d just taken a blow to the face. His legs buckled and he reeled for a second. He stared at it, and it stared straight back. Of all the places he’d looked before they began their descent, and he hadn’t fucking looked there.

  He’d dropped his guard already.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Rhys stopped and maintained eye contact with the diseased beneath the bridge. Hidden half in shadow, he saw just one of its bloody eyes. It stared straight at him with the detached fury of a mass murderer ready to strike.

  With his bat raised, Rhys ran at the monster. His feet sank into the soft ground. It sapped both his speed and strength. Had the way been flat and dry, he would have made it in time. Instead, he watched the thing’s chest expand as it inhaled.

  Rhys wanted to yell for it to stop—as though that would do any good.

  Its scream came out as a primal braying call to anyone and everyone around them. When Rhys turned to Vicky, he saw her wide eyes and slack jaw as she stood there dumbstruck. “Go and start on the boat, now! I’ll catch up.”

  She took off again in the direction of the boat.

  Now that he’d travelled higher up the hill, Rhys could see the undeveloped tower again. Despite the distance, he felt like he could see every pair of bloody eyes as the entire rooftop of diseased looked his way.

  The one beneath the bridge screamed again. Those on the roof replied in kind and a cacophony of chaos answered the song of one of their own. One check beneath the bridge and a swing of his bat could have prevented this.

  The one beneath the bridge then ran at Rhys. It moved over the muddy ground with ease and picked up its pace. Rhys had just one chance to take it down, as it was both quicker and stronger than he was. With his sweaty grip clenched around the bat’s handle, he pulled it back and swung.

  The bat pinged as it connected with the thing’s jaw. The vibration ran through the handle and up Rhys’ arm. The creature stumbled and fell backwards.

  In two strides, Rhys stood over it, his bat raised again.

  Another heavy swing, and the thing’s head caved in with a wet squelch. Rhys spat on it. “Fucker!”

  After a moment’s pause, Rhys heard it. Hundreds of clumsy feet played a tattoo against the ground. He heard a thousand screams. Bloodlust rushed at him like a tsunami.

  If only he’d looked under the bridge before he ran toward the boat. What a fucking idiot!

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Vicky had made it to the boat and Rhys ran toward her as fast as he could. “Hurry up,
Vick.”

  Although she pulled on the front of the vessel, it didn’t budge. When she looked up, her face glowed red from the effort.

  The screams from the group of diseased grew louder. Their feet shook the ground like an earthquake.

  When Rhys got to the boat, he threw his bat in, grabbed the side, and pulled.

  Nothing. The mud held it like super glue.

  “Right,” Rhys said. “We need to work together. One, two, three, pull.”

  They both yanked the boat backwards. It shifted by about an inch.

  “Good; one, two, three, pull.”

  It came back a little farther.

  “Pull.”

  “Pull.”

  Each tug moved the boat closer to the water’s edge. As he pulled, Rhys looked up the riverbank. The diseased hadn’t arrived yet, but the stampede grew louder. After he’d seen how the one beneath the bridge moved, he knew the muddy ground wouldn’t slow them down one bit.

  Another yank, and Rhys lost his grip on the edge of the boat. He slipped and landed in the wet mud with a squelch.

  Damp earth turned his hands slick when he pushed himself up again. A quick rub against his trouser legs barely removed any of it.

  He grabbed the boat and tugged so hard his body snapped back with every jerk. “Pull, pull, pull, pull.” It started to move.

  With the boat just a few metres from the water, Rhys looked up. The front-runners appeared at the top of the hill. Crusted blood streaked their cheeks, and their mouths hung open as dark holes. No more than fifty metres separated them. Pure hate drove them on.