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

by Michael Robertson

  “Please face the screen. Please face the screen.” The alarm-like voice rang out for everyone in the office to hear.

  Panic turned Rhys clumsy as he snatched at his security card and ripped it from the slot. IT would send him a warning for that one. Every time an employee removed his or her security card, it was to be only after the computer was logged off. Better to receive the condescending letter than let his computer tell his ex-wife and her lover that they were being watched.

  Not that it bothered him to see Larissa and Clive together. Well, okay, it did bother him; it tore at his heart every day, but she had a right to move on. Besides, it wasn’t like he could ever have a relationship with her again. Too much bad blood ran between them, and it wasn’t worth living a life of misery so he could wake up in the same house as Flynn each day. It wouldn’t be healthy for Flynn. With a tense stomach, he took another sip of his coffee as he watched the pair kiss. He looked away before they’d finished.

  In his peripheral vision, he watched Clive head in the direction of his corner office, and Larissa came over to her pod. Rhys had met Larissa at work. They’d had adjoining pods for a year or so before they started to date one another. Since they’d split up, they’d remained at the same desks. What else could they do? The only way to change desks in this place was to be fired, die, or get promoted. Some people stayed in the same pod until they retired. A few died without ever moving desks. Old Ryan Bell died at his desk; the same one he’d had since the day he’d started.

  With Larissa fucking the boss, there’s no way she was going to get a promotion; it just wouldn’t be fair. And they wouldn’t promote Rhys. If he got paid more money, he could get a better solicitor. But they couldn’t fire him either—that wouldn’t look good on Clive. Nope, Rhys was fucked. He was destined to die a slow death in his cubicle as he watched his ex-wife and his son’s new dad play the happy fucking family and grow old together.

  When Larissa disappeared behind the temporary walls that made up her workstation, Rhys threw a timid, “How’s Flynn?” in her direction.

  As he awaited a reply, he listened to her move things around on her desk. She crashed and banged on the other side of the partition.

  “I said, how’s Flynn?”

  Never one for a scene, Larissa kept her voice low. “Jesus, Rhys, I’ve not even turned my computer on yet.”

  The caffeine had added rocket fuel to Rhys’ veins and his pulse raged. Despite this, he managed to keep his reply level. “All I’m asking you is how my boy’s doing. I’ve not seen him for over a week. It’s not unreasonable to ask.” In the past, they would have argued. Not now though. It didn’t serve any purpose and would only give her ammunition to take to their eventual court battle for custody of their boy. When Rhys drew a breath to speak again, Larissa cut him off.

  “He’s fine. He’s doing great, in fact. He had a wonderful weekend.”

  The weekends Flynn spent away from Rhys were always wonderful.

  “Clive and I took him swimming,” Larissa continued. “He’s doing widths now without arm bands. Clive’s such a good teacher, and Flynn loves swimming with him.”

  Sure, Clive was now with Flynn much more than Rhys could ever be, but that didn’t make him an arsehole. He was a middle management moron who spent a bit too much time with his head in an inspirational manual and not enough reading the reactions of his staff, but he had a good heart and he did genuinely care about Flynn. “I’m pleased Flynn’s happy. Thank you for telling me about the weekend; I’m glad you all enjoyed it.”

  When Larissa didn’t reply again, Rhys picked up the photo of Flynn from his desk. Time had curled the corners of the image, but did nothing to diminish the depth of his boy’s brown eyes. People had told him they had the same eyes, not that Rhys saw it. Instead, he saw the warm smile of his boy. Everything else may have been a disaster in his life, but when he looked at Flynn’s smile, Rhys could overcome whatever came his way.

  He placed his card back in the card reader on his desk and returned his attention to the mirrored screen.

  The computer started its routine again, and the female voice said, “Please make sure you’re at eye level.”

  Chapter 5

  “We had to do it, Frank.”

  Unable to move his sore eyes from the monitor, Frank still hadn’t blinked when he said to Artem, “We didn’t have to do anything.” He flinched as he watched John and Alice tear into the portly Wilfred. Alice, who seemed to have earned alpha status already, went for the neck, while John attacked one of Wilfred’s ample thighs.

  After he’d cleared his throat with a wet cough, Frank added, “Wilfred didn’t deserve that.”

  The only light in the room came from the monitors. Artem’s fingers danced over his keyboard. He remained focused on his screen when he said, “All of the other doors are fine. The locks are solid. They’re safely quarantined up there.”

  Frank looked across to see Artem with his hand raised for a high five. A shake of his head, and Frank returned his attention to his own monitor. “There’s nothing to celebrate.”

  Once the other two had finished with Wilfred, they left him limp on the floor. As Frank continued to watch, his mouth dried. The anticipation of what was to come sent a hot wave of nausea through him. Sweat lifted on the back of his neck.

  First, Wilfred’s left arm twitched. Then his left leg jumped from the floor. His head thrashed from side to side. He snapped at the air, but his body didn’t seem to have worked out how to move yet. As Wilfred lay on the floor, he released a throaty, phlegmy growl. The sound turned Frank’s skin to gooseflesh.

  Frank shook his head and said, “I know they’re in the penthouse, and we’re about as far away as we can possibly be in this building, but it still feels too close.”

  When Artem laughed, Frank tensed and his shoulders lifted into his neck.

  “You’re paranoid, Frank. We’re in control here. There’s no way this is–”

  A loud pop rang out and Frank looked across to see Artem crash onto his keyboard. Blood covered the monitor in front of him. Before he could turn around, Frank felt the hot end of a gun barrel press into the soft patch just below his right ear. He tilted his head around as far as the gunman would allow. “What the–”

  “Don’t look at me,” the man behind him said. He had a thick Chinese accent. “Keep your eyes on the fucking screen if you want to live.”

  A surge of adrenaline pulled Frank’s stomach tight. He lifted his shaky hands in the air. “O… okay. Sorry.”

  The man behind pushed so hard it felt like he was trying to drive the barrel of his gun through Frank’s skull.

  “Ow!”

  “Shut up, pussy.”

  When Frank blinked, a tear fell onto his desk. “What do you want?”

  The man pulled the gun away, and Frank relaxed. A sharp pain then exploded across the back of his head; the loud crack made his ears ring. Before he had time to shake the dizziness, the barrel of the gun returned to the soft patch below his ear.

  “You don’t ask the fucking questions! Got that?”

  Frank nodded.

  The butt of the gun hit the back of Frank’s head again, and the loud crack made his world spin. “Yes,” Frank said as he rubbed the sting on the back of his head. “I’ve got it.”

  “I just want you to know that your wife, Juliette, and your two boys are okay.”

  Frank’s stomach lurched. “What have you done to them?”

  Another blow and Frank blacked out for a second.

  “Are you fucking deaf or something? You don’t ask the fucking questions! They’re fine. That’s all you need to know. If you do everything I ask of you, then that’s how it will stay. Fuck me over, and we’ll kill them. And I don’t just mean a bullet through the head.”

  The man leant so close to Frank that he could smell cigarette smoke and his breath tickled his ear. “We’ll make rats eat through your boys’ stomachs. Your wife will be forced to watch it while my men take turns on her.” />
  Tears soaked Frank’s cheeks, and a shudder ran through him. “Anything,” he said as his lips trembled. “I’ll do anything you want.”

  The man pointed his gun at the screen. It showed a family of four in one of the building’s lifts. “Take control of that lift. Stop it there.”

  Clumsy with fear, Frank hit several wrong keys.

  The gunman pushed the barrel of his gun hard into Frank’s head again. “Don’t fuck about. Hurry the fuck up!”

  Frank shook like he had hypothermia and typed as quickly as he could. A quick check of the monitor showed him the family had gotten closer to their destination floor. Just before they arrived, he hit enter. The lift stopped.

  Frank released a stuttered sigh and swallowed against his dry throat. He wiped the sweat from his brow. “There.”

  The pressure beneath his ear eased off slightly. “Good. Now redirect it to the penthouse.”

  “But they have children with them!”

  The next blow made a wet pulse throb in Frank’s ears. The taste of his own blood filled his mouth and he gulped a huge swill of metallic saliva. A wet heave threw half of it back up his throat. He swallowed it back down, and the bitter taste made him shudder.

  “Well?” the man demanded.

  Frank slurred his words. “You’ve got to stop hitting me; once more and I’ll be done for.”

  The barrel left the spot beneath his ear and Frank flinched as he waited for another blow.

  It never came.

  The man behind him calmed down. “So, I have you on side?”

  Frank nodded.

  “I swear your family are fucked if you mess this up. Eight of my boys are sitting in your front room right now with them.”

  The man put his phone in front of Frank. It took a few seconds before Frank made sense of the image. Men surrounded his family with more weapons than a small nation. Another gulp of his own blood, and Frank said, “Okay. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

  “Redirect them to the penthouse.”

  The little girl, the youngest of the family, couldn’t have been any older than three. A doll hung limp from her hands and her jaw hung loose as she stared around the lift. Her brother played a game on a phone. More tears rolled down Frank’s face as he typed on the keyboard and pressed ‘enter’ again.

  The lift came to life. The family inside visibly relaxed and the dad hugged his daughter.

  When it passed what was clearly their floor, the dad pressed the button on the panel. At first, he pressed it hard. Then he jabbed it. Before long, he hammered it repeatedly.

  Frank’s sweaty fingers flew over the keyboard and he managed to hit ‘enter’ before the dad pressed the emergency call button. When the dad pressed it, it did nothing.

  As the family elevated, the man in the room with Frank said, “You know who we are?”

  “I’m guessing you’re from The East.”

  “Check you out, brainiac. The accent gave me away, huh?”

  Frank shrugged.

  “We found out about your little experiment going on today; about your plans to drop it on us.”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about what they’d planned to do with it.”

  “Bullshit! It doesn’t matter though. When we’re done, you’ll wish you were dead. You’ll probably wish your family were dead too.”

  Frank’s entire body tensed. “Leave my family alone. You said you wouldn’t do anything to them if I did as you say.”

  “And I won’t, Frankie-boy. I won’t.” His voice dropped to a low hiss. “You’ll wish I had though.”

  The walk from Building Seventy-Two to the square only took five minutes. Despite the short distance, by the time Rhys had sat down on the wall that surrounded the water fountain, sweat had stuck his shirt to his back.

  At least he had the comfort of his old trainers rather than his work loafers. He’d left his tie in his top drawer and shoes beneath his desk. They were items for the subservient. A necessity while in Building Seventy-Two, but no one could tell him what to do on his lunch break. At work, he would often remove his shoes and not put them back on until the end of the day. It was a ‘fuck you’ to the bosses… an act of rebellion that gave him a small sense of freedom. People may have given him strange looks when he walked around the building in his socks, but fuck what other people thought.

  Ian, the office pedant, had gone as far as to suggest no shoes went against health and safety. Ian could go fuck himself. The look Rhys gave him at the time conveyed that thought. The jobsworth never brought it up again.

  The sound of running water helped coax the tension from Rhys’ body. Just one morning in the office wound him up tighter than a guitar string.

  The air always seemed fresher in the square. Rhys filled his lungs and the warmth of the strong sun sank into his skin.

  Rhys looked at the people on the benches. From where he sat, he had a clear view of the entire square. It always filled up when the sun came out. As the only open space in Summit City, it provided an escape from the labyrinthine maze of alleyways and roads. A large patch of grass would have topped it off perfectly, but Summit City was a pure concrete jungle.

  As always, Rhys faced The Alpha Tower. The matte black windows had a heavy tint to them that stopped anyone seeing in. From how dark they looked, it probably stopped anyone seeing out too. One day, Rhys would find out what went on in there. Something utterly unremarkable, no doubt—either that or the person who told him would be duty bound to kill him afterwards. A smile twitched at the sides of Rhys’ mouth. Like there would be anything that exciting in Summit City.

  Rhys lifted his small rucksack onto the wall beside him and unzipped it. He removed the photo of Flynn from the back pocket; it was the one he’d had on his desk earlier. He stared at his boy’s dark brown eyes. He never went anywhere without the photo. “I love you, mate; don’t forget that.”

  Rhys removed a lump of tree bark next. It had been painted in the way only a child knew how. The layers of paint, laid one on top of the other, had turned it a muddy purple. The varnish added a contradictory smooth finish to the rough item. The bark served as the perfect paperweight, so he laid the photo down next to him and placed the bark on top of it.

  When he pulled his clear lunchbox from his bag, he popped the lid and peered inside. Sometimes, a morning spent in transit could make his lunch look like it had been through the spin drier. Today, his ham, cheese, and tomato sandwiches had remained in tact.

  The second he took his first bite—the bread slightly soggy from the tomato that had been in it all morning—Rhys’ phone buzzed in his pocket. He put his sandwich down. If it was the guy about his bloody car again… no way would he let that angry idiot ruin his lunch break.

  It was a text message though; the notification on the screen sent a pang through his chest. The angry idiot would have been miles better. Before he clicked ‘open’, he stared at the heart next to her name. He should really change that in his list of contacts.

  He pressed his thumb against the print scanner on the screen and his pulse raced before he’d even read the message.

  I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you earlier, but you can’t see Flynn this weekend. Something’s come up.

  Something’s come up! Something always fucking comes up. The mouthful of sandwich suddenly tasted bitter. He typed his reply. What do you mean, ‘Something’s come up’?

  Before he’d put the phone back in his pocket, it buzzed again. He wants to go to the zoo.

  Perfect, I’ll take him to the zoo then.

  No, sorry, Clive has already booked the tickets, and he’s sooooooo excited to go with him. :)

  Like a fucking smiley face made everything okay. And of course he was excited; he was six years old and someone had promised to take him to the zoo. Unless she meant Clive; if she did, Rhys couldn’t give a shit about Clive’s excitement to go to the zoo.

  The brief interaction had turned Rhys’ stomach to acid. With his phone in his hand, he looked at the water
next to him. If he threw it in, it would only make his life harder in the long run, but it would stop that bitch from intruding with bad news any fucking time she wanted. A look down at the picture of his boy and he took deep breaths.

  After a minute or two, Rhys replied. Please tell Flynn I love him. I think about him every day and I’m so proud of him. There’s no way Larissa would reply, and very little chance she would even tell Flynn, but he couldn’t do anything else. He had to keep his head. He had to do the right thing. Until the custody case had been settled, Larissa played the drum and he danced like a monkey for peanuts. In the past, the state would have helped him with his legal costs, and a decision would have been made by now. Then a newly elected government decided legal aid should be withdrawn from child custody cases. Poor families clearly didn’t deserve justice. Now he had to rely on a shit lawyer who seemed utterly disinterested in his plight. Something as simple as giving a father access to his son, and he had to go skint forever to achieve it. No matter what happened though, he wouldn’t give up the fight for his boy.

  Bile boiled in Rhys’ stomach and the few mouthfuls of sandwich he’d already eaten rose up his throat. Not only had that bitch ruined his weekend, but she’d ruined his lunch too. After he put his sandwiches back in his bag, Rhys picked his phone up again. His hands shook as he opened his emails and started a new message.

  To: Shannonwalk@walkthelinesolicitors.com

  From: Rhysloveslols@smokingmail.com

  Subject: Flynn - What else?

  Dear Shannon,

  Please find below the latest interaction between myself and Flynn’s mother. She’s cancelled on me AGAIN! That’s FOUR times in the past three months. I’m only allowed to see him once a fortnight as it is! You said I have to play by her rules until we sort this, but I’m finding it damn hard. I should be seeing him more already, but nothing’s happening.

  Please push this case through quicker. I’m desperate to see my boy more often!!!!!