Seconds after Rhys jumped off the pole, Oscar leaped onto it. The tall lamp swayed as if it would snap under the man’s considerable weight. When it held, Oscar shimmied down it.
At the bottom, Oscar jumped to the ground and failed to hide his awkward landing on his bad leg. He then glared at Rhys before he sprinted away from the car park.
A deep inhale and Rhys’ lungs felt like they could pop at any moment. One more breath and he followed after Oscar.
***
After they’d ducked into an alleyway a few hundred metres from the car park, Oscar and Rhys stopped.
Rhys dropped his hands to his knees and hunched over. His navel pulled up into his ribcage as he chugged on the air around him. Fire burned in his guts, and seconds later, he vomited acidic bile as thick as glue.
He looked up to see disdain spread across Oscar’s face. A wipe of his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and Rhys said, “I’ve never pretended to be fit.” He heaved again but didn’t vomit this time. “We got away; that’s the best I can do at the moment.”
“We need to find a better way to travel around this city,” Oscar said. “We can’t carry on like this. We’re lucky they haven’t caught us yet. I need to stay alive so I can rescue Adam.”
Rhys looked up at his new friend. “Adam?”
A slight flush ran across Oscar’s cheeks before his usual stoic expression replaced it. “Alan.”
“You said Adam.”
Oscar stepped forward and loomed over Rhys. He shook when he said, “Why the fuck would I say Adam?”
“I don’t know, but you did.”
A shake of his head and Oscar shot a blast of air from his mouth as if to dismiss Rhys’ comment. “I think all that running has gone to your head, princess. Why don’t you focus on getting your breath back so we can get the fuck out of here? Waiting for you is going to get me killed.”
He’d definitely said Adam. He’d definitely gotten his own brother’s name wrong.
Chapter Seven
Oscar had definitely said Adam, not Alan. If he’d have gotten someone—anyone else’s name wrong, Rhys could let it slide, but his brother…? And not only his brother, but—according to him—the most important person in his world.
A trickle of sweat ran from Rhys’ armpit down his side. Dryness spread to every part of his mouth and into his throat. The nausea that only heat and thirst could bring tightened its dizzying grip on him.
With each alleyway came the potential for yet another ambush, so Rhys wiped his brow and watched every one they passed. The occasional look behind showed him that the diseased from the multi-storey car park had yet to pick up their trail. Thank god.
A glance at Oscar, and Rhys saw he walked with what seemed to be a more pronounced limp than before. The run must have taken its toll on him. Rhys checked his brow—no sweat. His eyes—they seemed clear. The slight pull back of his lips—he couldn’t see that either. If he had been bitten and would turn into one of the diseased, he hid it well. But if he hadn’t been bitten, why did he go to so much effort to hide it?
Although Oscar didn’t look back at Rhys, he wore his usual scowl. It said ‘fuck off’ and ‘don’t fucking talk to me’. Not that Rhys cared about that. “So how old is your brother?”
“What?” The one syllable boomed from Oscar’s mouth like a cannonball.
“Your brother, how old is he?”
Oscar drew a deep breath that lifted his large chest. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”
Convenient! Is that because you’re worried you might forget his name again? Rhys kept the thought to himself.
“I’ve already let you too far into my world. Why don’t you just stay focused on what’s going on around us before we get jumped again, yeah?”
The man may have been much larger than him, but he couldn’t silence Rhys with aggression. As they walked, Rhys held eye contact with him and let his hand hit the pillars. Each gentle ting lifted Oscar’s shoulders closer to his ears. Rhys hit each one harder than the last.
A tut, and Oscar spun away to look in the other direction.
Rhys looked around too. Tower Seventy-two, the tower that he used to work in and currently contained Larissa and most of his colleagues, stood on the horizon. The large phallus, an industrial-looking stalagmite with its armoured shell, looked exactly the same as the buildings that surrounded it. The large pods that used to be towers littered the entire city as if dropped by an invading alien army. They could almost be huge hives set to open up at any point and release a violent and bloodthirsty race of beings.
A distant scream ran ice down Rhys’ spine. Maybe aliens would be easier to deal with than those fuckers.
Not only did the shutters cast an otherworldly look over the city, but they also muted the sounds of the people contained within the buildings. An eerie stillness hung in the air like low-lying fog; it felt like walking through a graveyard.
Rhys hit the next pole a little too hard. The ting rang out and the tips of his fingers throbbed from the contact.
Oscar looked at him and Rhys dropped his attention to the ground. Dark bloodstains had sunk into the asphalt. Then Rhys saw something pink and his stomach twinged. He pointed down. “A severed ear, look. A small, severed ear. It must have belonged to either a tiny adult or, more likely…” he paused as the memory of the school bus massacre choked him. He cleared his throat and finally said, “A child.”
Oscar glanced at the ear; his face twisted with his own displeasure rather than any kind of concern for the victim. When he looked up again, he pointed at a building and said, “Fuck, another one.”
The lump of grief remained wedged in Rhys’ throat when he looked to where Oscar had pointed—another tower burned. Dark smoke like the kind released from burning plastic seeped through the gaps in the armoured plates. “If the smoke’s that thick,” Rhys said, “fuck knows what it’s like inside the tower.”
A shake of his head and Oscar’s shoulders slumped. “It’s a damn waste of people. Why are there so many fires?”
Rhys remained quiet as he watched the tall man. Something in the way he reacted rang false; almost as if it were an act, like he couldn’t really give a fuck if they burned or not. He had the external sheen of a psychopath well practiced in pleasantries.
When they got closer to the building, Rhys heard a raspy voice call out into the street. “I can’t breathe.”
A series of coughs came from the man, then he said again, “I can’t fucking breathe.”
Heavy gasps and the voice came again. Each word slightly quieter than the last. “I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. I can’t…”
Rhys and Oscar glanced at one another, but neither spoke as the man’s voice faded away.
The thuds of tired fists beat against the other side of the shutters.
Then another voice, this time that of a woman. “I’m too young to die. What about my children?”
Rhys’ chest tightened and his eyes stung with tears. If Oscar asked, it was because of the thick smoke. A deep frown darkened Rhys’ view of the building as he listened to the weakened female voice mewl, “I can’t breathe.”
Neither of them had called for help. They’d clearly given up on that pipe dream.
“I hope Larissa and Dave are okay,” Rhys said as he fought to get his words out past his grief.
When he glanced at Oscar, he saw the large man stare at the burning building. Crow’s feet spread away from the edges of his narrowed eyes. A watery glaze covered his eyeballs. The rare glimpse of emotion ran another wave of sadness through Rhys. A deep exhale did little to banish it, so Rhys looked at his Superman watch and said, “We have just over four hours left.”
Oscar didn’t reply.
The look at the watch ran anxiety through Rhys. He removed the walkie-talkie from his pocket and flicked it on.
Oscar stared at it. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Rhys depressed the talk button on the side. It banished the quiet hiss that came from
the speaker. “Hi, it’s me. Can you hear me?”
After another glance around, Oscar turned back to Rhys. “Turn it off. You’ll make too much noise.”
“I’ll whisper.”
“You’ll still make too much noise.”
Before Rhys could press the button and try again, he heard Vicky’s voice. “Hi.”
Rhys’ arm shook and his voice wavered. “How’s my boy doing?”
He felt Oscar’s intense scrutiny burn into the side of his face.
Vicky spoke in a soft tone. “He’s good. We’re both good. It’s all quiet here. Well, I say quiet; the diseased are still waiting on the other side of the bridge, thinking they can get across. Stupid fuckers. Hopefully they’ll be gone when you come back. How are things with you?”
After a pause to look at Oscar, the man’s icy glare coming back at him with interest, Rhys shrugged. “I’m doing fine. I’m making good progress.”
Oscar tutted, shook his head, and looked away.
“Anyway, I don’t want to run the battery down. I just needed to check that everything’s all right. I’ll contact you again soon, okay?”
“Okay,” Vicky said.
“I love you, Flynn.”
“Love you too, Daddy.”
Grief weakened Rhys as he switched the walkie-talkie off. They both sounded calm and some of the tension left his body. Oscar may doubt her, but she can be trusted. Fuck what Oscar thought.
As the pair moved off, Rhys wedged the large walkie-talkie back in his pocket. Once he’d finished, he lifted his head. Oscar still stared at him.
“I dunno why the fuck I’m doing this,” Rhys said. “The boy’s mum has been a bitch to me for ages now. I should have just left her in the city and got as far away from here as possible.”
Oscar’s words lost their sharpness. “Yeah, but every little boy needs his mummy, eh?”
The moment of sensitivity caught Rhys off guard and it took a second for him to ask, “Do you have kids?”
Oscar shook his head and looked back at the tower in front of them. “No.”
Rhys looked the tall man up and down and a deep unease sat in his gut. Everything about him seemed to be covering up a lie.
When Rhys saw it, he stopped dead.
Oscar stopped too. “What? What is it?”
Rhys pointed to a shop on the other side of the road.
For a few seconds, Oscar looked from Rhys to the shop and back to Rhys again. “A bike shop, so what? We can’t get inside.”
Rhys removed the card Vicky had given him from his top pocket and waved it in the air. “We can with this.”
A crocodilian smile spread across Oscar’s wide face. “You fucking beauty,” the big man said. He gave Rhys a playful punch on the top of his shoulder. It knocked Rhys back a couple of steps. “Kept that one quiet, didn’t ya? With bikes, we can get to The Alpha Tower and back with no problem. That babysitter of yours has proven to be pretty darn handy.”
Despite the urge to rub his now sore shoulder, Rhys resisted. “She’s a good woman!”
The smile remained on Oscar’s wide face. “I can’t speak to that, but she’s certainly helped by giving you access to most of Summit City.”
What did it matter if Oscar could speak to it or not? He didn’t need Oscar’s approval. Rhys nodded in the direction of the cycle shop. “Come on, let’s go.”
Chapter Eight
Rhys’s hand shook when he held it near the card reader. Reluctance tugged on his muscles as if his body knew something he didn’t. He looked over his shoulder at the quiet city behind him. The diseased from the car park would be with them at some point. The longer they waited around, the more chance they’d have of bumping into them. He swiped the card and watched the red light on the reader turn green.
Several clicks as the shutter mechanism came to life and the steel barrier rolled up from the top. Made from horizontal strips of brushed steel much like the metal used to protect the towers, the bottom of the shutter lifted from the ground.
Although the process wasn’t slow, impatience ran through Rhys and he tapped his foot as he waited. He chewed on his lip and scanned the city behind him again. “Come on, this is taking too fucking long.”
Oscar ran a more languid surveillance of their surroundings and said nothing.
The sun set on the horizon and Rhys glanced at his watch. Just over an hour had passed since he’d left his boy. He drew a deep breath and exhaled hard.
The motors whirred and Rhys cleared his throat as he continued to watch the abandoned city. “Maybe we led every diseased in the city to the car park and they’re still there.”
Oscar looked back in the direction of the multi-storey and lifted his wide shoulders in a shrug. “As long as they stay there.”
When Oscar spoke, Rhys watched him to look for any chink in his façade. The response seemed natural but Oscar also seemed well practiced in the art of deceit. When he’d finally worked out Oscar’s angle, he’d be much easier to read. Until then, he’d just have to guess. He didn’t have a brother with Down’s, that much seemed clear. Or if he did, he wasn’t trapped in Summit City, and he wasn’t called Alan. As for Oscar’s injury…
When Oscar turned back around, Rhys looked away.
After a moment of silence, Rhys looked back at him.
The big man’s blue eyes narrowed. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said and looked down, “why the fuck do you have odd trainers on?”
Rhys focused on his feet and wiggled his toes. The sweat between them turned the movement slick. The previously new trainer looked far from that now. Both of them had brown stains from old blood and were scuffed from heavy use. A shrug of his shoulders, and Rhys pointed at the new one. “I found this one in a sports shop when I was leaving the city a few hours ago. After putting it on, I realised the other one would be somewhere in the store cupboard, and we didn’t want to hang around to look for it.”
The look on Oscar’s face said ‘you idiot’, but he kept his response to himself and turned to look at the shutter. It had lifted high enough for them to enter the shop.
A deep breath did little to settle the butterflies in Rhys’ stomach, so he pushed through it and ducked under the barrier as it continued to rise. Oscar let him lead the way and followed him in.
All of the shop’s displays and decor had bike themes. A huge wheel dominated the centre of the space. About two metres wide, it held at least thirty bikes and spun to allow customers to view the stock.
Although they led to a private area, the stairs in the corner of the shop had been made to look like cogs. The counter rested on top of a large set of replica handlebars. Made from glass, it had been filled with fireworks. Even the cycle clothing hung from hangers hooked over wheels suspended from the ceiling like model aeroplanes. The entire place smelled of oil and rubber.
Rhys walked to the back of the shop with Oscar at his side. From the corner of his eye, he caught movement beneath a pile of clothes and raised his baseball bat. Oscar did the same with his axe.
A girl emerged. Scruffy and no more than about five feet tall, she held a firework in one hand and a lighter in the other. The firework shook at the end of her outstretched arm.
Rhys stepped forward and then froze when she sparked the lighter at him.
“I’ll send this firework into your fucking face if you take another step closer.” Spittle shot from her mouth as she spoke.
Rhys raised his hands. “Calm down, love, we don’t mean you any harm.”
“Like fuck. If you didn’t mean me any harm, why the fuck have I been locked in this shitty shop for so long? I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re not keeping me in here any longer.”
With the firework still pointed at the pair, she made her way over to the large cycle display in the centre of the shop. All the while, she kept her eyes on Rhys and Oscar. “I expect you to stay there while I get the fuck out of here.”
When Oscar stepped forward, she thrust the firework in his direct
ion. Her skin flushed red and her eyes widened. “I mean it.”
“Easy, princess,” said Oscar, his voice much kinder with her than it had ever been with Rhys. “All I wanted to say is it’s rough out there.”
She glanced down to where she’d been hiding. “Anything’s got to be better than sweating it out in here.”
Oscar winced. “I’m not sure that’s true.”
“He’s right,” Rhys said.
Another lunge with the firework, and the girl shouted through gritted teeth. “Stay the fuck back or I’ll light this thing.”
Rhys and Oscar looked at one another before Rhys said, “But you need to listen to us. It’s dangerous out there.”
She jabbed the firework at him again. “Back!”
After he’d stepped back, Rhys continued, “There are zombies out there.”
The girl stopped and tilted her head to one side. “Do I look like I was born yesterday?”
Rhys wanted to argue, but she had the lighter dangerously close to the firework’s fuse. With one hand, she tugged on a bike. All of the other bikes rattled as she fought to liberate the one she’d chosen. Instead of watching the girl, Rhys looked out into the street. She’d made enough noise to bring hell down on top of them.
When she’d pulled the bike free, she jumped onto the saddle. “Don’t you dare try to follow me.”
“Just listen to us,” Rhys said.
A spark of the lighter, and the girl lit the fuse. The touch paper hissed and she threw the firework down. Rhys ducked behind the counter and Oscar crouched behind the stairs.
A loud shriek and the firework shot across the floor before it exploded close to Oscar. Rhys’ ears rang from the sound.
When he stood back up again, he watched the girl as she raced from the shop. With the bike flick-flacking between her legs, she called over her shoulder, “You fucking arseholes. Fuck you and whatever it is you’re doing to this fucking city.”
The Alpha Plague 2 Page 4