As soon as Alex was out he dropped to his stomach, bullets whizzing by overhead. The three men on the ground were standing close together as they fired at him, seemingly oblivious to the proximity of the horde. Or maybe they had too much confidence in their newfound Survivor strength and speed. Alex took aim and pulled the trigger.
The cartridge he’d loaded into the gun hit the guard in the centre and exploded. He cried out, staggering backwards, his hand pressed to his chest where burn marks peppered his white shirt. A rapidly expanding ball of red smoke enveloped the men.
At the pheromone command to attack, the horde, now just fifty feet away, went wild. The guards whirled to face them, raising their rifles and opening fire.
It was the wrong thing to do.
They should have run.
Alex scrambled off the front of the tank. The screams began as he hit the ground. He didn’t look back.
At the noise from the dying guards, Boot stopped beating Micah and looked up to see Alex speeding towards him.
“Stop him!” he shouted, scrambling to his feet.
The guard holding Micah down leaped up and ran towards Alex, raising his pistol. Two shots echoed from the surrounding stands. Alex barely heard them above the blood rushing in his ears. A sharp pain stung his left shoulder. He ignored it.
Reaching the guard, he leaped into the air, hammering his clenched fist down as he roared in fury. The huge man fell and didn’t get up again.
Alex landed and kept running. The guard Micah had stabbed took one look at him and bolted.
Boot was backing away, fumbling to raise his gun. Most of the bullets went wild. Two got lucky, but Alex gave them no thought.
Face twisted in terror, Boot turned and dashed for the helicopter. He hadn’t gone ten feet before Alex caught up with him. Grabbing him as he ran, Alex yanked him off the ground and hurled him at the helicopter. He slammed into the metal side and dropped to the ground, unmoving.
Pinner stared at Alex from the pilot’s seat inside, then grabbed at the controls in front of him. The rotors began to speed up.
Alex reached the chopper and lunged through the passenger side door. Pinner cried out, scrambled out of the other side, and ran. Alex almost followed, rage turning his vision red and urging him to destroy every one of them.
But then he remembered Micah.
He turned back and sprinted to where he was still lying in the grass.
Blood drenched Micah’s brutalised face. He was covered with cuts and bruises. Both eyes were swollen almost shut and his nose was bent to one side. His arms clutched his torso.
Alex fell to his knees beside him, reaching out shaking hands, but not daring to touch him. “Micah?”
There was no response. Heart pounding in his throat, Alex touched two fingers to his neck. Micah’s eyes fluttered open. He drew in a shuddering breath and whimpered.
“You’re going to be all right,” Alex choked. “Hannah and the others, they can fix you.” He glanced up at the approaching eaters. “But I’m going to have to move you now and it’s going to hurt. I’m really sorry.”
Sliding one arm beneath Micah’s shoulders, he lifted his torso off the ground. A cry of agony wrenched from Micah’s swollen lips. Alex felt like he wanted to throw up.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Micah’s eyes suddenly focused past Alex, towards the helicopter. Alex looked back.
Boot was on his feet, blood running down his face. His mouth twisted into a rabid grin as he raised his pistol.
Alex plunged his right hand into his pocket. In a single movement he withdrew his skull-spiker, flicked out the blade, and threw.
The black spiker seemed to move in slow motion as it spun end over end through the air. Finally reaching Boot, it embedded to the hilt in the centre of his forehead.
For a couple of seconds Boot stood frozen, as if unaware that his life was over.
Then he slumped to the ground.
Alex stared at the body for a few moments, half expecting him to sit up again. When he didn’t, he looked away.
The moans of the horde were growing in volume. Some had stopped to feast on the guard Alex had dropped. The rest were making a beeline for him and Micah.
He slid his right arm beneath Micah’s legs, lifted him gently from the ground, and tried to stand. His right thigh exploded in pain. Gritting his teeth, Alex pushed himself to his feet.
Micah didn’t make a sound. His body was slack, his breathing rapid, shallow gasps. He didn’t respond when Alex whispered his name.
Alex turned away from the approaching horde and walked as fast as he could to the edge of the pitch. Trying to jostle Micah as little as possible, he climbed awkwardly over the barrier and made his way past the seating to the nearest set of stairs.
As he climbed, the adrenaline drained away and the pain grew. For the first time, he looked at the blood soaking his shoulder and running down the left hand side of his t-shirt. His left arm was trembling and he became afraid it would stop working altogether and he’d drop Micah. He clenched his muscles and locked his arm in place around Micah’s back, biting back a cry of pain. His right thigh throbbed as he climbed and after the first flight he was forced to lead with his left leg, dragging the right up behind it onto each step. Holding Micah’s weight wrenched at his left side and he could feel warm blood crawling down the chilled skin of his hip.
When he began to shiver, he knew he was going into shock. Still he kept going, afraid that if he stopped, he wouldn’t be able to start again.
Finally, after shuffling across a landing to another flight of stairs, his foot wouldn’t lift to the next step. Gasping in agony, he carefully laid Micah onto the smooth concrete and slowly sat down beside him. He took his radio from his pocket, dialling in the frequency he knew would reach every other radio in the city.
“We need help,” he said, his voice trembling. “Micah is hurt badly. The eaters are in the stadium. We need doctors. We need... please, come quick.”
Answers came in immediately. They were coming. He dropped his hand and the radio tumbled onto the concrete.
He looked out over the stadium. Eaters filled the space, eclipsing the grass. They swarmed around the tank and helicopter. Dozens were pressed up against the barrier separating the pitch from the stands, staring up at him, but it was too high for them to get past. Writhing mounds of eaters jostled for space as they feasted on those members of Boot’s guards who had fallen.
Alex’s gaze went to the spot near the helicopter where the psychotic, despotic CEO of Omnav himself had died. A crowd of eaters kneeled over a body Alex couldn’t see, in a moment of supreme poetic justice consuming the man responsible for the virus that had destroyed them.
When Alex tried to lift it, his left arm wouldn’t move. He shrugged the pheromone gun from his back with his right arm, laid it across his lap, and loaded in the blue cartridge he’d put in his pocket. Raising the gun into the air one handed, he aimed as well as he could and fired into the centre of the stadium. He couldn’t hold back a harsh whimper as the recoil pushed against his shoulder, twisting his torso. The pheromone gun dropped from his grasp and clattered down the steps below him.
As he watched, the eaters directly below the detonation began to move towards each other. Before long they were pressed together, swaying and moaning in an ever expanding circle. All except those who were still feeding, tearing apart the men who had fallen to Alex’s rage and desperation.
He slid his right hand across the concrete, his fingers finding Micah’s cold, unresponsive hand and grasping it. He sobbed as the movement caused a deep, stabbing agony to flash through his side.
But the physical pain he could deal with.
The rest...
Squeezing his eyes shut against the sight below him, Alex began to cry.
52
There were voices.
Alex tried to look up, but his eyelids wouldn’t open. He could feel the hard concrete beneath his b
ack, but couldn’t remember lying down.
It was so cold. When he tried to speak, his teeth chattered.
“Alex? Alex, can you hear me?”
It was Hannah. She had such a beautiful voice. He wanted to answer her, to ask her how Micah was, but he couldn’t form the words. He could feel Micah’s hand in his. It was cold and still.
Lights flashed on the periphery of his vision.
With almost a sense of relief, Alex drifted into the darkness.
53
At a faint sound, Alex looked up from the book he was reading.
He studied the blonde sixteen-year-old lying on the bed in front of him. Her head rolled to one side and she whimpered again.
Tucking the book beside him on the armchair, he leaned forward. “Lucy?”
Slowly, her eyes opened, blinking against the light shining from the purple-curtained window.
“Lucy?” he repeated.
She gasped and immediately started coughing, rolling onto her side and curling into a ball beneath the duvet.
Alex pushed from the chair and limped to her side. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He reached out a hand to pat her shoulder then thought better of it. He didn’t want her to freak out.
When her coughing subsided, he took a glass of water from the bedside cabinet and held it out to her.
Her eyes flicked between the glass and him. “Who are you?” She immediately began coughing again.
“Please drink,” Alex said, “it’ll help.”
Watching him with suspicion, she took the glass and drank, emptying it quickly. Then she slid up the pillows away from him, clutching the duvet to her chest.
Alex moved back to the chair and lowered himself back into it. “You don’t have to be scared. My name is Alex, I’m a friend of your brother’s.”
Her pale eyes narrowed. “Micah would never have a white-eye as a friend. He hates you all.” Her gaze darted around the room. “What’s going on? Where are my mum and dad?”
Micah should have been the one explaining everything to her, not someone she didn’t know. Alex hated telling people bad news.
“A lot has changed in the last few weeks,” he said. “Your parents aren’t here. I don’t know where they are. They were gone when Micah and I first found you.”
“Found me? They wouldn’t have left me. They were here when I...” Realisation swept across her face, chased by fear. “Was I infected? I was infected, wasn’t I? I remember that eater catching me and my dad smashed a spade into its face and I got blood on me.”
Alex sighed, leaning his elbows onto his knees then sitting back again when his left shoulder protested. “I didn’t know how it happened, but yes, you were infected. When Micah and I found you, you were...” He stopped, not wanting to scare her. Micah really should have been the one telling his sister this.
She looked on the verge of panic. “I was what?”
“You had turned,” he said as gently as possible. “You were an eater.”
Her eyes widened. “But... but... why aren’t I dead then?”
“There’s a cure now for fully turned people.”
She touched her hand to her eyes. “So, it’s over? All the eaters are gone now?”
Couldn’t she ask him something he had a more positive answer for? “No, that’s all still going on.”
She looked down at the duvet in silence. Alex waited. After a minute, she moved one hand to her bedside cabinet and pulled open the top drawer. Without looking, she slipped her hand inside and removed a small mirror, laying it face down in her lap.
“You don’t have to see that right now,” he said.
Lucy shook her head, whispering, “Yeah, I do.” Picking up the mirror, she drew in a deep breath and flipped it over, looking at her reflection for a split second before slamming the mirror back down onto the duvet.
“You’ll get used to it,” Alex said. “Believe me, I remember what it’s like. But all the best people have white eyes.” He winced internally. This probably wasn’t the time for levity.
Lucy rolled her eyes and for a second she looked so much like her brother that Alex couldn’t help grinning. The smallest of smiles crept onto her face. He decided to go with it.
“And you are kick-ass strong now too. It’s really not so bad being a Survivor. Wait until you see how fast you can run.”
Her smile disappeared. “Is Micah here? He’s going to hate me. A white-eye killed his girlfriend.” Her eyes shimmered with sudden tears. “He won’t even want to look at me.”
Alex wanted to kick himself. Why on earth did he bring up the S-word? “No, I promise, he doesn’t hate Survivors anymore.”
She sniffed as a tear rolled down her cheek.
Alex panicked. “Look, he’s asleep. I’ll go and get him. You’ll see, he’s only going to be happy that you’re all right.” Before she tried to stop him, he grabbed his crutches from where he’d left them leaning against a chest of drawers and hauled himself to his feet. “Just... stay there. I’ll be right back.”
He limped along the hallway to Micah’s room and opened the door without knocking. Micah was lying on his back in the bed, his still healing nose causing him to snore softly. Alex had finally managed to convince him to get some sleep in his own bedroom. He’d been using the armchair by Lucy’s bed since they’d arrived and given her the cure two days earlier, but the awkward sleeping position was doing nothing for his damaged body.
Alex touched his shoulder. “Micah, wake up.”
His eyelids jerked open. “Wha’?” He squinted up at Alex. “What’s wrong? Is Lucy okay?”
“She’s awake.”
His eyes widened and he pushed himself up, grimacing as his body twisted. It had been a week since the showdown with Boot and Micah’s face was markedly less swollen, but his skin was still a patchwork of dark yellow peppered with red and blue blotches, particularly around his eye sockets and his broken nose which was covered with a dressing. His four fractured ribs were also still giving him pain.
With neither of them in any condition to ride, they’d had to travel up to Matlock in a car instead of using the bikes. It was an uncomfortable journey, but Micah had insisted on getting to Lucy as soon as he was mobile, and Alex had insisted on going with him, even though he couldn’t yet walk without crutches or lift his left arm past his shoulder without severe pain. The bullet that had punctured his side had taken a chunk of flesh with it, but was relatively superficial in comparison, although it still hurt. Larry had done a good job in surgery fixing him up, but it was going to take a while to return to anywhere near normal.
But both Micah and he were healing and going to be all right. For that, Alex was profoundly grateful.
Micah climbed out of bed, grabbed at his jeans heaped on a nearby chair, and pulled them on. “Is she okay?”
“Yeah. Except...”
Micah froze, looking panicked. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. She’s just a bit emotional. She thinks you won’t want to go near her now she’s a Survivor.”
Micah stared at him, aghast. “What? Why would she think that?”
Alex shrugged his right shoulder. “Well, you did used to kind of hate us.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
He turned away towards the door, but didn’t move. After a few seconds of silence he turned around, walked quickly back to Alex and hugged him. Alex had no idea what to do. He patted Micah’s back awkwardly.
“Thank you,” Micah said. “For sticking with me even after what I did, for always having my back, and for helping save Lucy. For everything.”
Crutches dangling from his arms, Alex hugged him back. It took him a moment to find his voice. “Thank you, for staying through everything and not leaving when I went off the rails, for not making me go through all this alone. And for saving my life a couple of times.”
Micah let go and stepped back, stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking slightly embarrassed. Then he smiled. “Sixteen times.”
Ale
x leaned on his crutches again and frowned. “Sixteen? I don’t think so.”
Micah headed for the door. “It’s all on the list,” he said as he walked out.
Alex lowered himself onto the bed and waited for a minute to give Micah time alone with Lucy. When he returned to her room, Micah was sitting on the bed, his arms wrapped around his sister as she cried into his chest.
Alex carried on past and, clutching the banister in one hand and both crutches in the other, made his way slowly down the stairs.
First, he was going to make them all something to eat.
Then he was going to check his list.
54
Lucy was well enough to travel after three days, but the three of them nevertheless stayed where they were.
Alex felt like he needed the time to recover, mentally as well as physically. And although Micah didn’t say anything, Alex knew he was feeling self-conscious about his battered appearance and was in no hurry to go back out in public.
Alex considered teasing him about his vanity, but decided not to. There was a time and a place. Maybe he’d do it at a later date.
So they hung around Micah’s parents’ house, reading, talking and playing board games as they took the time to relax and heal. Lucy turned out to be a lot like her big brother, who she clearly idolised despite her teenage attempts to hide it, and she was fun to be around. Alex enjoyed helping her come to terms with her new status as a Survivor and teaching her how to handle her strength. With the likelihood that there would be a great many more new Survivors around from now on, there would be a need for others to guide them through what could be a traumatic transition. Leon would probably be interested in developing some sort of mentoring programme, having been a teacher before being forced to leave his job after he became a Survivor. Alex made a mental note to talk to him about it when they got back.
Twenty-Five Percent (Book 3): Vengeance Page 31