The Alpha Plague 2

by Michael Robertson

  Then he heard Dave’s voice. “Rhys; it’s me, man.”

  The next time he felt hands touch him, Rhys reached out, grabbed them, and pulled his friend close. He held him in a tight hug. “Thank god you’re okay. We need to wait for this place to flood to the point where it drowns those fuckers in Building Thirteen. Then we can go, okay?”

  Dave didn’t say anything.

  “It’ll mean waiting until the last moment before we make our move.”

  The water had already risen to his groin.

  “Just follow my lead, Dave, okay?”

  “Okay, man. You’ve got me this far.”

  Rhys’ stomach tensed. He didn’t need to be responsible for Dave’s existence as well as his own.

  ***

  Within a few short minutes, the water had risen to Rhys’ chest. It wrapped him in a rigid straight jacket of cold that burned all the way to his heart. The diseased continued to beat at the door, but with less frequency, and less ferocity. The water had finally overpowered them. Occasionally Rhys heard another loud crack as they, or the water, obviously made the hole in the door bigger.

  Rhys held himself in a tight hug, and the icy water forced rapid and shallow breaths from him as he listened to it rush through the gap into the basement of Building Thirteen.

  When Rhys reached out to Dave again, he caught nothing. Another try and his hand found only cold water. “Dave? Where are you, Dave?”

  Nothing.

  “Dave?”

  Still nothing.

  Rhys’ heart beat hard as the water rose. “Dave?” The loud rush continued unabated.

  Surely, it hadn’t pulled Dave under… but maybe the diseased fucker that fell through had.

  ***

  The water level had climbed up to Rhys’ chin. It had turned his arms and legs numb. It had risen slower because it obviously had to fill Building Thirteen’s basement as well as their tiny space. The sound of splintering wood had stopped. Rhys couldn’t know any more; maybe the diseased had retreated, maybe they’d drowned. Either way, the water levels had risen to the point where he would have to take action soon.

  As long as Rhys could breathe, he would wait. If Building Thirteen had the same layout as Building Eighteen—as it should—then the entire basement would be flooded soon.

  ***

  A small pocket of air remained between the top of the water and the ceiling. Rhys lifted his face to it and took his last few breaths as the levels continued to rise. He filled his lungs and pulled his head under.

  With only memories of Building Eighteen to guide him, Rhys grabbed the broken door that lead to the basement and pulled himself through the hole.

  The water level in the building had risen to the same height as in the tunnels. Rhys swam as high as he could. The diseased sank to the bottom so he needed to stay as far away from them as possible. There could be hundreds of the fuckers down below, desperate to drag him under.

  When he lifted his head to breathe, his skull cracked against the concrete ceiling. His pulse raced and his head spun. He had no margin for error now. A deep breath and Rhys pushed his head beneath the surface again.

  Panic threatened to steal his oxygen and his limbs had turned numb, but if he remained at the top, he’d be okay. The diseased swam like rocks, and with at least two metres of water, they wouldn’t be able to get to him… in theory, anyway.

  Rhys’ hand scraped one of the rough walls. The bobbled surface stung his frozen fingertips, but he kept the wall on his right. It helped him maintain his bearings. If he followed it, it had to lead to the stairs that could get him out of there.

  In theory.

  The sound of his own pulse continued to pound like a bass drum and a sharp pain tore through his ever-restricting lungs.

  ***

  White light exploded through Rhys’ vision when he crashed, head first, into a wall. Dizziness rocked his world but he managed to fight against the lure of it as it tried to take his consciousness away.

  He felt his way along the wall and found the gap… The stairs! It had to be the stairway out. A combination of brain freeze and the headache from the impact ran sharp needles of pain through Rhys’ eyeballs. His sinuses burned.

  Rhys swam through the gap into the stairs. His head continued to spin and he lost his bearings. After every strong stroke, he hoped to burst through the surface, but he didn’t find it. The pipe had well and truly flooded the place. Either that or he was aimed at the floor.

  A glance up and he saw light. Thank fuck. His heart accelerated. The last few metres were the worst part so far. The prospect of oxygen wound everything tighter as if he could pop at any moment.

  One final push and he strove to get his head above the water.

  Then something grabbed his ankle and pulled him back.

  Rhys kicked and bubbles burst from his mouth when he shouted. It spent what oxygen he had left in his lungs. A shrill whine sounded in his ears—a requiem for the drowning.

  He got pulled farther back.

  The light up ahead grew darker.

  Rhys kicked out to try and break free again, but whatever had a hold of him pulled him deeper.

  Chapter Forty

  What had seemed like a reachable light just seconds ago shot away from Rhys as he flew backwards. A vice-like grip wrapped so tightly around his ankle it stung. Any tighter and it would surely break the bones within it. Rhys kicked and shook his foot, but it did nothing to get the thing off him.

  With every second that passed, the burn in Rhys’ lungs increased. With no chance of air or escape, he let go of his fight and fell limp.

  Far from peaceful, but accepting of his fate, Rhys went with the thing that pulled on his leg.

  Until something broke the water above him.

  Was the diseased above so desperate to get to him, it was prepared to drown?

  A tight grip on his collar and the diseased from above yanked hard. It broke him free from the monster’s grip below, but his shirt cut into his throat as Rhys rushed toward the surface.

  Rhys broke through the water, lay up the stairs, and inhaled so hard his hungry breath sounded like a donkey’s bray.

  The breath brought clarity and gave Rhys just enough time to see the dark form of the diseased as it moved in for the kill…

  But the bite never came.

  Several deep coughs and Rhys vomited all over the concrete stairs. A series of quick and light breaths, his throat half clogged with watery bile, and he vomited again.

  The thing that had dragged him free withdrew and pulled him farther up the stairs. Each concrete step sent a sharp crack through his knees as he slipped over one and crashed into the next.

  As Rhys coughed, spluttered, and fought for air, stars swam in his vision. He vomited again.

  After a few more seconds, the tension that had tightened Rhys’ throat eased off and he took a deep and unrestricted breath. When he looked up again, his vision had cleared to the point where he recognised his friend. “Dave?”

  Dave stopped and turned to him. He half-smiled and lifted a gentle shrug. “All right, mate?”

  “What the fuck happened? Where did you go?”

  Instead of a reply, Dave grabbed Rhys beneath his arms and lifted him to his feet.

  Rhys’ legs held, but he shook, coughed several times, and vomited water again.

  Dave drove heavy pats against Rhys’ back. Each wet slap stung the space between his shoulder blades and his words came out in quick, panicked bursts. “The water was so strong down there it knocked me over. I couldn’t find you again. I couldn’t see anything. When I found the door, I swam through. What else could I do? I’m sorry I left you, man.”

  Rhys shook his head and half laughed. “Don’t worry about it. You’re free. We’re both free.” When he looked down at the water, he saw the level visibly rise. “I’d hoped it would fill up quickly, but I’m surprised at just how bloody quick. It won’t be long before this water’s pouring out into the street.”

  Rhy
s looked past his friend up the flight of stairs. They led to the next level of the basement. “There’s no diseased down here with us?”

  A shake of his head and Dave said, “Not that I can see. The stupid fuckers seemed so desperate to get to us, that they didn’t know when to retreat to save their own skin. It looks like the water took all of them out. Your plan worked, buddy.”

  Dizziness rocked Rhys’ world when he nodded. “Thank fuck!”

  When Dave looked down at the water, Rhys did the same. The pair stood in relative silence. The water lapped, and Rhys breathed heavily. He couldn’t hear any of the diseased.

  After another step had been claimed by the water level rise, Dave slapped Rhys on the back again. It stung just as bad as before. “Come on, man, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  A knot of anxiety tied in Rhys’ stomach. “I feel naked without a weapon. Did you manage to keep my baseball—?”

  Before Rhys could finish, Dave shook his head. “No, we’d best just run fucking fast. We’re alive; that’s better than we could have hoped for fifteen minutes ago. Oh, and the water seems to have helped my cough.”

  Cold and exhausted, Rhys shook. He took a deep gulp. “Okay.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  The climb up the long flight of stairs that led to the reception area of Building Thirteen aggravated the burn in Rhys’ lungs. Water damage and his lack of fitness combined to make every breath less nourishing than the one that had preceded it. If they came across a ravenous horde, he had no fucking chance right now.

  Close to the top of the stairs, Rhys stopped, wiped his sodden hair away from his eyes, linked his fingers behind his head, and winced as he pulled shallow breaths into his body.

  When Dave gripped the handle of the door that led through to the reception area, Rhys lifted the palm of his hand. Too exhausted for even one word, he needed a minute or two to rest.

  Although Dave waited, a tightness gripped his face and his eyes narrowed as he watched Rhys. He ground his teeth and then bit his bottom lip. He tapped an impatient beat against his wet thighs. A glance through the window into the reception area, and he looked back at Rhys again and raised his eyebrows.

  A couple more deep breaths and Rhys winced at the pain in his lungs. Every time he inhaled to a certain point, a sharp ache stopped him going any further. It would take more than a few minutes to recover. He’d have to deal with it as best as he could. He tugged on his wet shirt that had stuck to his torso, removed the walkie-talkie from his sodden pocket, and switched it on.

  Nothing. Hardly a fucking surprise. He laughed ironically. “It would seem that a walkie-talkie’s an even worse swimmer than I am.”

  Dave watched him in silence and his eyebrows pinched in the middle.

  Rhys held the walkie-talkie up. “Fucking thing’s fucked.” He threw it down the concrete stairs. The plastic object clattered against every step on the way down before it landed in the water at the bottom with a pathetic plop.

  In the absolute silence that followed, Rhys listened for the screams of the diseased in the foyer. Dave stood with his shoulders tense.

  After a couple of seconds with no roar, Rhys said, “Didn’t think that one through, did I? Sorry, mate.”

  Dave paused for a second longer and said, “No. It seems like it’s okay out there though. Good to find that out, I suppose.”

  A pat of his other trouser pocket and Rhys’ heart stopped for a second. “It’s gone, Dave.”

  “What’s gone?”

  “The bark! The bark that Flynn painted and varnished for me. I’ve lost it.” He pointed at the rising water level. “It’s down there.” The photo remained in Rhys’ top pocket, but when he removed it, the water had damaged it so badly the paper had turned to mush.

  The world in front of Rhys blurred and his eyeballs stung. “Oh, fuck.” A blink sent a stream of tears down each cheek. “Fuck it! Fuck!”

  Rhys looked at his friend. “What the fuck are we going to do, Dave? I’ve left my kid with a stranger. She could have done god knows what to him. Larissa’s gone, so even if I do get back to him, I’ve got to explain that Mummy’s dead. We’ve still got to get across the open space between this tower and the draw bridge without getting attacked, and we have no fucking weapons now.”

  The restriction had never left his chest, but the grief and panic accelerated his pulse and the entire area around his heart wound tighter. Each shallow breath did nothing to satisfy him or settle his furious heartbeat.

  Like before, Dave dropped a heavy hand on Rhys’ shoulder and stared into his eyes. Calmness sat in his dark irises and sweat glistened on his brow. Rhys continued to shiver from his damp clothes and the cold basement.

  “Whatever happens, Rhys, I’m going to make sure we get off this island and back to your boy.” He shook Rhys when he repeated, “Whatever happens. We need to focus on what’s in front of us right now and deal with that. At the moment, all we have is a closed door. We don’t know what’s on the other side.”

  “Exactly,” Rhys said.

  “But that doesn’t mean the diseased are there. We don’t know, so we shouldn’t try to guess. All we can actually do next is open the door, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Rhys nodded.

  Another squeeze of his shoulder and Dave dipped his head to get eye contact with Rhys again. “I know we’re going to be okay, man. We’ve come this far. Just like we don’t know what’s on the other side of this door, we don’t know what’s happening with Vicky. All you have is the word of a psychopath, and what’s that worth?” Dave lifted Rhys’ wrist and looked at the Superman watch. “Come on, man, we only have about twenty minutes left.”

  Dave pulled the door open and Rhys followed him through.

  ***

  Like the last reception area, the one in Building Thirteen had been trashed. Too many people had been forced to wait around for too long. Blankets, cups, food wrappers; the place looked a state.

  The pair crossed the foyer on high alert as they both looked for signs of the diseased. It seemed quiet. Maybe all of them had drowned themselves down in the basement.

  When they got to the front of Building Thirteen—the double doors open to the outside world—Rhys caught the faintest whiff of rot. “This is where I helped Oscar fight the three diseased. Not that he needed my help. The fucker blatantly lured me in because he needed to find someone to get him into the tower. He needed someone to help him turn the order to incinerate off. And he needed someone to watch his back because his leg was fucked. I feel so fucking stupid when I think about it now. He reeled me in a treat.”

  “At least he got you to The Alpha Tower.”

  Rhys sighed. “Yeah, I suppose he did. I may not have stood a chance without him.”

  Dave’s cough returned. Deep barks ran through him and he bent over double. The enclosed space at the front of Building Thirteen reverberated with the violent expulsions. When he pulled back up again, sweat glistened on his brow.

  Rhys’ wet clothes and the fading sun made him shiver again. “You okay, man? How are you still hot?”

  Dave nodded and coughed again. “I guess I haven’t recovered from the fire like I thought I had. Once you’ve been that warm it’s hard to cool down.”

  Before Rhys could say anything else, Dave’s eyes widened and he pointed over toward the drawbridge.

  Rhys looked over and lost his words for a moment. After he’d opened his mouth once or twice, he finally said, “Larissa?”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  “You ready?” Dave said.

  The breeze caught Rhys and his skin tightened with gooseflesh. The heat of the day had well and truly gone now. His damp clothes clung to him and he clenched his jaw against the cold. It seemed impossible that Dave still had a sweat-dampened brow. With a final deep breath as he looked across the space between them and Larissa, he dipped a sharp nod. “Yep.”

  Without another word, Dave set off and Rhys followed him. The run came as a welcome relief. Sure, he ached li
ke before, worse in fact, but the movement helped his frigid muscles unwind and raised his body temperature.

  The pair watched their surroundings. It seemed empty; the sounds of slaughter came from the city behind—screams, cries, roars… always the roar of rage from the diseased. It wouldn’t be long before it found its way to the bridge.

  The florist on Rhys’ right looked like it had a few hours previously—abandoned and bloody. The unfinished buildings stood as two large phallic skeletons. Again, abandoned. The food booths had changed. The metal shells had gone and each one had an open door as if the occupant had fled—even the one with the woman he’d spoken to inside. Hopefully she took Rhys’ advice and made it out across the river. Hopefully they hadn’t taken all the boats when they escaped.

  With the sound of his own breath loud inside his skull, Rhys focused on the bridge. He couldn’t do anything for the woman in the booth now. If she hadn’t run already, she’d have to deal with this world in whatever way she saw fit. Rhys couldn’t afford to help her… his little boy needed him.

  As they moved towards Larissa, Rhys saw she had her attention on the ground. She sobbed and shook her head. The drawbridge remained raised behind her. Even from about twenty metres away, Rhys saw the evidence that a mob of diseased had come up against it. Blood coated the metal surface from what must have been an onslaught of fists and bodies as if the solid barrier would yield to their ineffectual assault. They must have attacked it for long after he left to help Oscar.

  When they got closer to her, Larissa jumped and looked up with wide eyes. Recognition softened her features and her grief returned as it contorted and twisted her face. “Clive’s dead,” she called out.