Rhys glanced around and pressed his finger across his lips. The place may be free of the diseased now, but that could change in an instant, especially if she shot her mouth off.
Then Rhys saw the body by her feet. Clive, or what remained of Clive, lay lifeless on the concrete. The markings of the diseased streaked his face as dried bloody tears, and his head had been caved in. Larissa didn’t have a weapon. Rhys pointed down at Clive and said, “How the fuck did—”
He stopped when he looked down. Blood coated the heel of her right shoe. A look from her shoe to Clive’s face and back to her shoe again, and Rhys winced.
“I had to kill him,” she said as she shivered and breathed rapidly. The pace of her words quickened and became shriller. “I had to kill him. We got away but he’d been bitten. What else could I do? I had to do it, Rhys. I had to kill him.”
Even though the woman clearly needed it, hugging her felt like the most unnatural thing in the world. It had been a long time since they’d touched one another.
The kick of her strong perfume made Rhys wrinkle his nose. Anchored firmly in his pain, the strong reek dragged him back to the arguments, the nights he slept on the sofa, and the time he eventually packed his bags and left. Despite a deep desire to let go of her, he held on as she shook in his arms. He did the best he could. “Come on, Larissa, everything’s going to be okay. We’ll get off this island and everything will be fine. Flynn’s waiting for us on the other side.”
“But what about Clive?” Her voice carried over the open space.
“You need to keep your voice down.”
She shouted louder. “Keep my fucking voice down? I’ve just stamped the fuck out of the man I love.”
Rhys stepped away from her and clenched his fist. The desire to punch her tightened in his right arm. He wouldn’t let her hysteria put Flynn in any more danger—especially when it was over Clive. A shared look with Dave and he relaxed a little. He softened his tone. “If you don’t shut up, Flynn will be an orphan. Is that what you want?”
Heavy sobs stuttered through her and she shook her head.
“Look,” Rhys said while he pointed toward the river, “there are some boats down there. We need to get to them so we can cross to the other side. Once we’re safe you can grieve, but not here. Not now.”
When Rhys looked at his watch, Larissa said, “That’s Flynn’s watch.”
“I borrowed it. I had to. We have about fifteen minutes before this place is ablaze. If we’re not off the island by then, we ain’t ever getting off it, and Flynn will lose his Mummy and Daddy.”
Larissa continued to cry. It carried across the open space in front of the city.
Before Rhys could berate her again, the roar of the diseased answered her call.
“Fucking hell, Larissa. This is why you need to keep your fucking voice down.” With a hard grip clamped on her upper arm, Rhys dragged her away from the dead Clive. “Come on, we need to go before you get us all killed.”
At first, she resisted, but when Rhys tugged harder, she came with him.
***
When the three of them made it to the top of the riverbank, Rhys scanned the area. Several rowboats remained and bobbed in the water. Footprints ran from the top of the riverbank down to the shoreline. Maybe the woman in the food pod had gotten away. When he looked across, he saw boats on the other side. Although muddy, the riverbank looked no harder to travel down this side than it had on the other. At least the boats were already in the water. A look behind and his blood ran cold. “Fuck!”
Both Larissa and Dave also looked behind.
A rush of diseased flew from several alleyways. They came out in a continuous stream as if the entire city had answered Larissa’s call. A quick glance at Dave and Rhys saw his friend’s eyes widen. Dave looked back at him, dipped a nod, and they both ran. They dragged the grieving Larissa with them.
Chapter Forty-Three
The soggier ground closer to the boats pulled at Rhys’ feet. Every step tugged harder than the last. The roar of the diseased screamed louder than before. Any second now and the ones at the front would crest the brow of the hill.
Larissa stopped and grabbed Rhys’ arm. It snapped him to a halt.
“I’ve lost my shoe, Rhys.”
Rhys breathed heavily and his pulse thudded. “What?”
She pointed at the ground behind her. “I’ve lost my shoe.”
The first batch of diseased appeared at the top of the hill. Clumsy as always, they looked like they’d fall as they began their descent down the riverbank.
Rhys froze in the intensity of their collective projection of hate. “Fuck your shoe,” he said, “we’re going to die if we don’t fucking move.” A tug on Larissa’s arm and they ran again.
The ground squelched louder than ever but they made it to a rowboat before the diseased caught up. Dave stood back while Rhys held the boat for Larissa to climb in. The urge to kick her up the arse ran through him. “Do you want to take any more fucking time, love?”
Although Larissa replied, Rhys didn’t listen as he pulled himself in after her. The vessel rocked in the water, but when he flopped into it, it stabilised quickly.
Dave pushed them farther into the water. Rhys watched his friend. He sweated now more than ever. The effort from the run had clearly taken it out of him. Or was it more than that? He continued to watch his friend and dread sank in his gut. An ache the size of a golf ball swelled in his throat.
When they were so far out Dave had to tread water, he grabbed the edge of the boat as if to climb in.
Rhys restrained him with a hand against his clammy forehead. He’d ignored his gut too many times and he couldn’t do it again. Not now. Not with them so close. Flynn needed his parents.
Wide eyes stared back at him. Then Dave dropped his head.
Grief rushed through Rhys in a hot wave. Of all the times to be right… Tears stung Rhys’ eyes and his mouth buckled.
On the riverbank, a wall of diseased rushed toward the water. Their arms windmilled as they fought for balance. They whacked one another frequently, but none seemed to notice.
Rhys tried to clear the lump in his throat. It wouldn’t budge and his voice shook as he said, “When did it happen?”
Dave wiped his sweating brow as he trod water. He then pushed back toward the riverbank. The gap between the friends widened as Larissa rowed them away.
Dave swam backwards and raised his pelvis to the sky. He pulled his top up and showed Rhys the dark wound on his stomach. “It was when I was swimming out of the tunnels. One of them got me. I’d hoped the water would have kept it clean, and that maybe I wouldn’t turn.”
Heat surged through Rhys’ entire body. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you turn? You’ve been bitten, you fucking idiot. Why wouldn’t you fucking turn?” Rhys started to cry and slumped down on the bench in the boat. “Why did you let them bite you, man? Why didn’t you take more fucking care?”
Grief twisted Dave’s features. Then a twitch ran through him—a snapshot of fury. “It seems to have delayed it somewhat. At least I helped you get off the island, eh?” Another twitch of the disease tore through him.
A tightness gripped Dave’s features as he looked from one of Rhys’ eyes to the other. “I’m scared, Rhys. I don’t want to become one of them.” He twitched again.
After several stuttered breaths, Rhys finally managed to force his words past his despair. The distance between them had grown to the point where he needed to shout. “I know, man. I know you don’t. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get angry with you.”
A forced smile and Dave pointed at Rhys. “Just make sure you get to Flynn, yeah? Go be with your boy.” Another sharp twitch snapped through him that sent one of his arms away from his body.
Choked by his grief, Rhys watched his friend head back to shore.
When he got to shallow water, Dave stood up, and without another word, turned around to face the oncoming mob. The frequency of the twitches increased and turned h
is movements jerky. The diseased continued to rush over the hill. The ones at the front had nearly caught up to Dave.
When they did, every single one of them ignored him. They ran around him and splashed into the water after Rhys and Larissa.
“They’re leaving him alone,” Rhys said. “They know he’s one of them.”
Although Larissa didn’t reply, he felt her hand on his back. Rhys watched his best friend succumb to the virus and his vision blurred with his tears.
Dave grabbed the diseased as they passed him and he tossed them to the ground. But for every one he knocked over, ten more made it through.
The monsters splashed into the water, and like before, each and every one of them disappeared beneath the surface. Dave continued to fight.
“We don’t need Dave to protect us now,” Rhys said as he watched his friend’s ineffective battle. “We need him later. We need him on this fucking boat with us. We need him without a huge fucking bite on his fucking stomach. We need…” He couldn’t get the words past his tears.
Rhys felt the gentle touch of Larissa’s hand on his back again.
Chapter Forty-Four
As they crossed the river, Rhys stared at his lap and his tears fell down between his legs. He continued to look down and drew a deep breath before he said, “When I was in the city, I found something out about the woman who has Flynn.”
Larissa stopped rowing.
Tense in anticipation of the response, Rhys continued anyway. “She’s not who I thought she was.”
“Who is she?”
“I don’t know.”
Larissa’s voice became more high-pitched. “What do you mean, you don’t know? She has our boy, Rhys.”
Rhys’ heart thudded when he looked up at her. He knew she’d behave like this, although, to be fair, he’d react in exactly the same way. “You think I don’t fucking know that? Someone helped me get to The Alpha Tower. His name was Oscar. At least that’s what he told me it was. A lot later on, I found out he was a terrorist from The East. He knew her.”
“And you’ve left Flynn with her? What the fuck?”
“Obviously I didn’t know any of this at the time.”
“So what does she have to do with The East?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve got to give me something more, Rhys.”
“I don’t know. He knew her name, that’s all I know. I may have said it during the time we spent together. Maybe he’s using the fact that I forgot to mention it against me, but I don’t know. We just need to get to the other side. Hopefully everything’s okay.”
“Hopefully?”
Rhys ground his jaw and stared at the woman he used to love. He didn’t speak again.
***
When the boat bumped into the bank on the other side, Rhys looked back across the river. Through all of the diseased—the hatred, the snarling, the growls, the roars—he saw Dave. Just like all of the others, he stared pure malice at Rhys. His best friend. Rhys’ view blurred again and his throat burned.
With barely any strength left in his exhausted body, Rhys stood up on shaky legs. He turned his back on his friend and got out of the boat.
The ground pulled at his feet again. A thick bog for the first few metres near the riverbank, it threatened to take what little energy Rhys had left in him. Nevertheless, he pushed on and dragged the boat behind him.
When its base had dug into the ground, he held his hand out for Larissa to help her hop onto the shore.
She jumped down and stared at him.
Rhys turned his back on her and walked off up the hill.
Chapter Forty-Five
Were it not for the fact that Flynn would be waiting for him, Rhys wouldn’t have made it to the top of the riverbank. Exhausted both emotionally and physically, he felt just about ready to throw the fucking towel in.
When he got to the top and saw the police car, he forgot his aches and pains. He broke into a run. Clumsy with tiredness, he crashed into the car, the metal hot from the day.
After he’d pulled the driver’s door open, what small amount of strength he had in his body abandoned him.
When Larissa arrived at his side, she shrieked. “What’s happened, Rhys? Where’s our boy? What’s happened to him?”
Although Rhys opened and closed his mouth, he couldn’t get the words out. Blood coated the interior of the car. It soaked the seats to the point where it pooled on them. It had turned the wheel and dashboard slick, and dripped off the indicator stalks. The metallic reek made Rhys’ stomach turn.
Before Rhys could speak, static hissed from the radio in the car. When he leaned in, blood pushed up from the seat and spread between his fingers. He grabbed the radio mic. “Hello.”
Out of breath and panicked, Vicky said, “Rhys, it’s me. I’ve fucked up big time, but you can trust me. Please believe me when I say that.”
Rhys gripped the mic so hard it hurt his hand. He shouted, “Where’s Flynn?”
“With me. He’s okay.”
“Where are you?”
“I had to move.”
“Where are you?”
Another voice came over the radio. It sounded farther away from Vicky. The man who spoke was clearly chasing her. “Come back here, you bitch.”
Then he heard Flynn’s voice. “I’m scared. Where are we going? I want my mum and dad. Why are we running?”
“Vicky,” Rhys said as his spittle sprayed the microphone, “where are you? What’s happening?”
A clattering sound and the radio went dead.
“Vicky?”
Nothing.
Rhys banged the mic against the car’s dashboard. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”
When he stood up, he wiped the blood from his hands onto his trousers. A deep whoosh then sounded out behind him. When he turned around, he saw flames in Summit City jump from the ground. They leaped about five metres into the air and rushed through the streets like a flood.
The blast of heat blew Rhys’ hair back. It rocked him on his heels.
Numb and exhausted, Rhys stood and stared at the burning city. He looked at Larissa. “How the fuck are we supposed to just wait here? How long will she be? When do we accept that she ain’t coming back?”
Larissa didn’t respond. Instead, she stared at the burning city through unblinking and glazed eyes.
Rhys looked into the car again. He’d been too shocked to notice it the first time around, but now he couldn’t see anything else. “Fuck,” he said.
“What?” Larissa asked.
Rhys pointed at the axe on the back seat. “That’s Oscar’s axe.”
Ends.
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About The Author
Michael Robertson has been a writer for many years and has had poetry and short stories published, most notably with HarperCollins. He first discovered his desire to write as a skinny weed-smoking seventeen-year-old badman who thought he could spit bars over drum and bass. Fortunately, that venture never left his best mate’s bedroom and only a few people had to endure his musical embarrassment. He hasn’t so much as looked at a microphone since. What the experience taught him was that he liked to write. So that’s what he did.
After sending poetry to countless publications and receiving MANY rejection letters, he uttered the words, “That’s it, I give up.” The very next day, his first acceptance letter arrived in the post. He saw it as a sign that he would find his way in the world as a writer.
Over a decade and a half later, he now has a young family to inspire him and has decided to follow his joy with every ounce of his being. With the support of h
is amazing partner, Amy, he’s managed to find the time to take the first step of what promises to be an incredible journey. Love, hope, and the need to eat get him out of bed every morning to spend a precious few hours pursuing his purpose.
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DEAD ISLAND: Operation Zulu
Ten years after the world was nearly brought to its knees by a zombie Armageddon, there is a race for the antidote! On a remote Caribbean island, surrounded by a horde of hungry living dead, a team of American and Australian commandos must rescue the Antidotes' scientist. Filled with zombies, guns, Russian bad guys, shady government types, serial killers and elevator muzak. Dead Island is an action packed blood soaked horror adventure.
Allen Gamboa
INVASION OF THE DEAD SERIES
On the east coast of Australia, five friends returning from a month-long camping trip slowly discover that a virus has swept through much of the country. What greets them in a gradual revelation is an enemy beyond compare. Armed with dwindling ammunition, the friends must overcome their disagreements, utilize their individual skills, and face unimaginable horrors as they battle to reach their hometown and make sense of life in the new world.
Owen Baillie
The Alpha Plague 2 Page 16