The Alpha Plague - Books 1 - 8: A Post-Apocalyptic Action Thriller

by Michael Robertson

  Fire barrelled through her guts. Sweat gushed from her brow, and the thick black bars of tunnel vision shut off her peripheral sight. Everything fell into soft focus. She felt disconnected from the words as she said them. “Oh, so we have to stay here?” Several blinks did nothing to clear her vision.

  With a sombre nod, John said, “Yes. We have plenty of rations though.”

  Where? The apartment had seemed empty—not that she could see much now; maybe she’d missed a stash of supplies.

  Another rush of heat forced sweat from every pore. John vanished from her view as his white coat blended into the surroundings.

  Alice wheezed. “Is that why you’re checking your watch? You know when it’s supposed to happen?”

  Before John replied, everything went dark and she fell sideways. Sharp pain exploded across her cheek as she hit the table. The smell of bleach slithered up her nostrils.

  “It won’t be long now, dear.”

  She heard his chair scrape across the floor.

  “Would you excuse me while I go and use the bathroom? I want to make the most of that luxury because we’ll need to stay in this room from here on out. It’ll be a bucket in the corner after thissssssssss…”

  His words faded as her vision failed her.

  The sun shone directly into Rhys’ eyes when he pulled up outside Dave’s house. On the first attempt, he flapped at the sun visor and missed it, the glare so strong it blinded him. The thing creaked when he flipped it down on the second attempt. The car was a relic, but it wasn’t like he could afford anything else. When the custody battle for his boy was finally over with, he’d get one of the latest models. The Audi Aurore had automatic sun visors as standard from the 2035 model onwards. It may be a few years old, but something like that would be much nicer than the twenty-year-old Peugeot piece of shit he had to drive.

  He left the engine running to keep the air conditioner on. Dave wouldn’t be out straight away, and Rhys refused to cook in the car while he waited.

  Nauseous dread sat in Rhys’ stomach as it did every Monday morning. As clichéd as it was to hate Mondays, Rhys couldn’t fucking stand them. They served as a sharp reminder that another weekend had passed where he hadn’t seen his son.

  A quick toot of the horn, and he leaned back in his seat to wait.

  Rhys checked his watch for the sixth time, at least; a minute had passed, maybe more. The cool air blew on Rhys’ face. It stung his eyes slightly as the prolonged jet dried them out while he stared at Dave’s blue front door. Rhys expected him to be late, but he’d usually acknowledged Rhys’ presence by now. Dishevelled hair and bleary eyes would have normally poked their head out of the door and winced the usual apology of the perpetually late, but he got nothing today.

  Another check of his watch, and Rhys tooted the horn again.

  Dave ‘ten more minutes’ Allen always needed ten more minutes. They now had an agreement in place; Dave could have ten more minutes, but once that time had elapsed, Rhys left for work with or without him. At thirty-five, Dave could take responsibility for getting himself to work on time. Rhys often felt like his fucking mother.

  Seven minutes left of the ten and still no sign of Dave. The corners of Rhys’ eyes itched as he continued to watch Dave’s front door. A quick check in the rear-view mirror, and he saw his own scowl. No wonder his eyes ached. Maybe he should just go now. Sod ten minutes. Dave can find his own damn way to work.

  A heavy sigh, and Rhys shook his head. He couldn’t do that, no matter how much he wanted to… not with their agreement in place. He reached up to press the horn again, but before he had the chance to, a loud bang crashed into the window next to him.

  Rhys’ heart leaped into his throat and he spun around to find himself face to face with the messy-haired Dave. His afro looked like a bird’s nest. “What the fuck, man?” Not that he needed to ask; the stubble and bloodshot eyes told Rhys exactly what Dave had been up to. When he wound the window down, the heat of the morning rushed into the car with the reek of stale booze. Surprise, surprise.

  “I’m sorry, mate,” Dave said.

  Rhys looked past Dave at the house he’d just left. Like Dave’s house, it provided affordable living for the young professional. “You fucked Julie again?”

  A half smile, and Dave shrugged. “How long have I got before you leave?”

  After a glance down at the dash, Rhys said, “Four minutes.” He had six, but Dave always needed the wiggle room.

  Without another word, Dave jogged toward his house. A sprint would have no doubt reproduced most of the consumed alcohol from the previous night, and Rhys didn’t need to see that, even if it did mean Dave moved slower.

  The electric window whirred as Rhys did it up again, and the leather seat groaned when he leaned back into it. Despite the cool air conditioning, the heat of the sun warmed his face, and he closed his eyes. One day, Dave would surprise him by being on time.

  Yeah, right.

  When Dave opened the car door, Rhys opened his eyes again. A glance at the clock, and he quickly sat upright. The cheeky fucker had taken twelve minutes from him; it best not fuck things up for seeing his boy. The opportunities for him to see Flynn were few and far between. The last thing he needed was Dave ruining that, even though he couldn’t ever know what time to pass Flynn’s school because his mother was so damn inconsistent. When they’d been together, Larissa kept time like an army sergeant. Now she turned up whenever she fucking liked. She used it as a way to fuck with him, a way of repeated punishment for his one mistake.

  “Sorry again, mate,” Dave said as he strapped his seatbelt on. “I don’t have my alarm at Julie’s.”

  Rhys made a quick check over his shoulder and signalled before he pulled away. Being pissed with him wouldn’t help, but Rhys couldn’t let go of the tension that gripped his jaw. Not that he could really blame Dave; he could have left him after ten minutes like they’d previously agreed.

  A deep sigh, and Rhys rolled his shoulders. It loosened the tension slightly. “What’s going on with you two? That’s the fifth time in the past fortnight that you’ve stayed over there.”

  “You know what it’s like, mate; we go out on the piss, bump into each other all drunk and horny, one thing leads to another…”

  “Why don’t you just start dating her? You’re thirty-five now, Dave, you ain’t getting any younger.”

  “Exactly.”

  Rhys raised an eyebrow at him. “Huh?”

  “I have less time left in my life,” Dave explained. “Do you seriously think I need to fill what’s left of whatever existence I have with the bullshit of being attached to somebody? I like fucking; I don’t like going to garden centres on a Sunday and picking out potted plants. Besides, you’re hardly a shining example to follow when it comes to relationships.”

  “That was below the belt, mate.”

  “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  Rhys shook his head. “Whatever.”

  “Do you remember when you were out on the weekends with us? The wild nights on the town with the boys?”

  Of course he remembered them. The hint of a smile lifted his lips.

  Despite his apparent lethargy, Dave jumped on it. “See? They were fun times… bullshit chat up lines that worked more often than not, a different woman every night, dancing until the early hours, and a takeaway on the way home. When you wake up in a strange bed with a naked woman and a half-eaten kebab in your pocket, you knew you’d had a good night. How’s that not fun?”

  When they rounded the next bend, the sun shone directly into the front of the car. The glare burned Rhys’ eyes, but it seemed like nothing compared to Dave. First he shrieked, hid behind his forearms, and then flapped around until he’d found his sunglasses and slipped them on.

  “What are you,” Rhys said, “a fucking vampire?”

  “The hangovers get harder with each passing week, man. I’m getting too old for this.”

  “Yeah, I don’t miss that.”

  “You
should come out with us one weekend. I know the boys would be pleased to see you.”

  “I would,” Rhys said, “but I have different priorities now. I’m a dad and I need to behave like one. I may have troubles with Larissa, but Flynn is my reason for being. I need to do the right thing by him.”

  The route to work always passed Flynn’s school. Of course, Rhys wanted to arrive at work on time, but he lived for the chance to pass Flynn when he got dropped off at the gates. Just one glance of his little boy could keep him going for a week or more.

  When they got close, Rhys slowed down and looked across at all the children. Dave shut up as Rhys continued to search. Between eight and nine, all of the kids got dropped off by their parents; a quick glance at the clock on the dash showed him it was eight twenty-three.

  Even after they’d passed the primary school, Rhys continued to look over his shoulder. Not that it served any purpose; there were only a handful of kids, and most of them were girls.

  As Rhys sped up, Dave rubbed his temples and reclined into his seat again. “No Flynn today?”

  Did it look like Flynn was there today? Rhys pushed out a heavy sigh to try to force some of his frustration away. “No, I swear she drops him at a different time every day just to fuck with me. All I want is a small glance of him, a wave before I go to work. I just want him to know how much I love him. I don’t want him to forget me. Instead, I feel like a fucking stalker… a nonce that slows down and stares at the children going into school.” With his jaw clenched, he added, “I swear she gets some sick pleasure from it.”

  It may have been a clumsy hand, guided by an exhausted and clearly still intoxicated man, but when Dave squeezed Rhys’ shoulder, it sent a shimmer of sadness through his heart. The sting of tears itched his eyeballs, and he continued to stare straight ahead.

  “He won’t forget you, mate. Six year olds know who their parents are, even if they’re separated. When did you see him last?”

  “About a week and a half ago.”

  “So Saturday’s your next day with him?”

  With a grip so tight on the wheel it hurt his hands, Rhys’ breathed quicker. “That’s the plan. If she doesn’t fucking cancel, that is.”

  “She’s still cancelling a lot?”

  “Yeah, whenever she damn well feels like it.”

  Dave let go of Rhys’ shoulder, leaned back, and shook his head. “What a bitch.”

  Rhys didn’t reply.

  Chapter 2

  He may have been dressed in the same sterile uniform as his colleague—a full-length lab coat, white trousers, and black shoes—but Wilfred liked to think the similarities ended there. He and John belonged to different planets. Hell, they belonged to different galaxies. Just the sight of the tall and skinny man curdled his guts.

  He ran a hand through his hair and asked, “Is she okay?”

  A leer cracked John’s angular face as he stood on the other side of the door to his lab and stared in through the window. “No, I don’t think she is.” When he looked at his colleague, his piercing blue eyes shone bright in his craggy face. “But that’s the point, isn’t it?”

  A cold chill ran the length of Wilfred’s body as a violent, yet concise, shiver. His hands balled into fists as he looked at the wrinkly man in front of him. If he drove John’s face hard enough into the door, he could smash his beak of a nose. Let’s see what happened to his cold detachment then. After he’d cleared his throat, Wilfred said, “How was the meal?”

  Excitement lit John’s features; he hadn’t been this animated in years. “It went well.” He then turned back to the window.

  A deep frown, and Wilfred spoke slow and deliberate words. He had to hold onto his fury. His moment would come. “I didn’t make the meal, so why did you tell her I did?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” John laughed. “She wouldn’t have believed I’d made it. I didn’t want her to be suspicious.” He lifted an eyebrow and added, “We needed her to eat it, after all.”

  Reluctant to look into the room, Wilfred kept his attention on John. “And she ate the steak? It wasn’t too bloody?”

  “It was, but it had to be; we couldn’t cook the virus.”

  Heat radiated from Wilfred’s cheeks. Why had John done it?

  A few seconds of silence passed before John turned to his colleague. “What’s wrong with you? Are you letting your emotions get the better of you again?”

  Wilfred ground his jaw and counted silently to three. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and moved next to the skinny man. When he got close enough, the taste of bleach hit the back of his throat. John smelled like a swimming pool. No matter how much time Wilfred spent around the man, he’d never get used to it. He then looked through the window.

  A rich kick of bile rose in Wilfred’s throat when he saw Alice slumped over the table in the middle of the room. Pain tore through his chest to look at her blonde hair splayed out like a halo. What had she done to deserve this?

  “It happened exactly like the dogs we tested it on, Wilfred. The blood vessels in her eyes exploded and turned the whites red in an instant. They even bled.” A huge grin opened up John’s long face, and his eyes spread wide. “I could predict exactly when to leave. Exactly!”

  Unable to look away from the woman in the room, Wilfred jumped when she twitched. The surge of adrenaline ran a gentle shake through his hands. It was different to see it happen to dogs—he didn’t have a relationship with them like he had with Alice. A lump rose in his throat, and he swallowed against it. “Is she okay?”

  “Of course she’s not okay. That’s the point!”

  Of course. Stupid bloody question.

  Another glance at Wilfred, and John said, “Is this getting a bit too much for you?”

  The conversation stopped when Alice flicked her head up. Two sticky lines of blood stretched away from her eyeballs in thick tendrils. Her sharp head movements sent a pendulous swing through her loose jaw.

  “Jesus,” Wilfred whispered as he stared at the lines of claret that ran down each of her cheeks.

  She then vomited blood onto the table in front of her. It covered most of the white surface and spilled over the sides. A splash echoed in the room as it hit the floor.

  Hot saliva gushed down Wilfred’s throat, and a slow heave rolled through his ample gut. When his legs wobbled, he rested on the cold wall next to him to steady himself and turned to look at John.

  The scrawny man watched on with childlike fascination; excitement shimmered on his face. “Watch this, Wilfred,” he said. “This is the best bit.” With his long index finger, he tapped gently on the glass.

  A snap of her head, and Alice looked in the direction of the door. She then jumped to her feet; the chair shrieked as it skidded away from her and crashed to the ground. The loud slap of her hands as they slammed down on the tabletop echoed around the room like a mini thunderclap as she pushed herself to her feet. It took all of Wilfred’s concentration to hold onto his bladder.

  John smiled, pressed the intercom, and said, “Come to Dada.” Speakers in the room amplified his voice.

  Alice twisted her head with sharp movements as she searched for the source of the noise. Her long blonde hair swung out with every turn of her neck. Wilfred gasped when he saw the trails of blood that ran from her ears. When he looked down to see a dark red patch spread through the crotch area of her white trousers, a hot wave rushed through him and his stomach turned over. “Good god.”

  John laughed in a low murmur. “She doesn’t know where we are.” He tapped the glass again.

  She located the second sound and sprinted straight for them. With her arms windmilling, her mouth wide and dark with blood, she ran face first into the observation window with a deep crunch.

  She fell to the floor.

  Wilfred looked away and dabbed his watery eyes with the corner of his sleeve. He took several deep breaths to try to pull his heart down from his neck. When he looked back up again, he stared at the explosion of red on the reinforced glas
s window.

  Inside, Alice remained on her back. She rolled and writhed on the hard linoleum floor as if she didn’t understand how best to use her limbs.

  “Look at it, Wilfred. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Every muscle in Wilfred’s body fell slack as he looked at the man. “Her! Not it!”

  The bony scientist shrugged.

  The disease had made Alice clumsy, and she scrabbled like a spider on ice as she got to her feet again. Heavy breaths rocked her body before she screamed. She ran straight at the window again, hit it head first, and fell back to the floor.

  “There’s no way this door’s giving, love.” John laughed as he turned to Wilfred. “It’s designed to withstand an atomic blast… literally. No one’s getting in, and no one’s getting out. At points, there’s been information in here that, in the wrong hands, would give The East a huge advantage over us.”

  Wilfred already knew all of this. Maybe things weren’t as safe as John thought they were. He didn’t need to tell him that; he’d find out soon enough.

  “Also,”—the tall scientist pointed along the corridor that led away from his living quarters—”that corridor is broken up into four bomb-proof sections. Even if she gets through one door, there’s no chance she’ll get through all of them.”

  After he’d raised his thick shoulders in a shrug, Wilfred asked, “So what now?”

  “We observe. I want to enjoy this because we won’t get permission to test on a human subject again.”

  “And you’re confident that you can find a vaccine?”

  “Of course, Wilfred. I’m The West’s leading germ warfare scientist.”

  And don’t we bloody know it! “You know that we had permission to test this on anyone, right?”