Chapter 3
The road by the drawbridge was a seven-lane highway. The police car sat in the middle of it so exposed it only left the pair one place to hide. Rhys grabbed for Larissa’s hand and, in his haste, missed on the first attempt. On the second try, he grabbed a hold of her and dragged her over to the control booth for the drawbridge. She followed him with a ridiculous limp since she only had one shoe on.
En route to the booth, she stopped dead, which in turn snapped Rhys to a halt. Just before he could berate her, she lifted her foot, tore the shoe off, and threw it on the ground.
The screams grew louder and Rhys stared at the horizon. The brow of the hill may have hidden them but the fuckers were close. He gripped Larissa’s hand harder than before and continued toward the drawbridge’s control booth.
The light metal door shook when Rhys yanked it open. It reminded him of the kind of doors used on the cheap caravans he’d stayed in as a kid. As floppy as wet card, Rhys had seen more robust tin foil. The whole thing buckled again when he tugged it open wider, including the large Perspex window. As gross as the frosted panes looked, whether dirty or designed that way, they’d work in Rhys and Larissa’s favour once they got inside the small hut. Anything to give them a better chance to remain hidden, if the diseased saw them before they got inside the booth … he stopped any further thoughts. A chill snapped through Rhys. It didn’t bear thinking about.
Rhys stood aside to let Larissa in first and watched the brow of the hill as she hid on the ground. He heard the clumsy patter of feet join the cries of the diseased. Impatience coursed through him and forced him to tap his foot as he waited.
It only took a few more seconds for Larissa to make herself comfortable, but it felt like an age passed as Rhys divided his attention between her and the sounds just metres away from them.
The second Larissa settled, Rhys stepped in and held his breath as he pulled the door to. Fortunately, the flimsy thing made little sound as he tugged on it. He then slid down next to her and leaned his back against one of the warm walls. After he’d pulled his knees up to his chest, he wriggled to try to find comfort on the cold concrete. Adrenaline roared through his system and pulled everything tight as he sat there and looked up at the dirty window. Any moment, a wounded and enraged head could fill the cloudy space. Rhys tried to shake the thought from his mind. Everything would be okay. It had to be.
The booth reeked of old sweat and flatulence. It had also captured the day’s heat and held onto it much like an unopened tent would. Sweat itched along the back of Rhys’ dirty neck.
Once inside, Rhys couldn’t hear anything other than the sound of his and Larissa’s ragged breaths. Although the booth hid them from the diseased, he had to deal with his muted senses because of it. With less awareness of the monsters outside, they could be ambushed at any moment.
Larissa hid beneath the control desk with a tall stool next to her. Topped in faux black leather, it looked as neglected as the rest of the booth. A huge tear ran around the outside of the cushion and a wedge of foam poked through like a dog’s tongue on a hot day. Although still chrome, the stool’s base had caught rust as if it were a disease. Flecked over every part of it, the brown dots dulled the shiny finish.
Crammed in so close Larissa’s knees pushed into the side of his thigh, Rhys wriggled again. If anything, it made the hard ground even more uncomfortable and his bum had already turned numb. When Larissa moved, she nudged the seat by accident and its legs scraped across the concrete. The screech accelerated Rhys’ pulse and he held his breath as he listened for a reaction outside.
After a few seconds none came, so he continued to look at the stool. They should have moved it out before they got in. It took up too much room.
From his vantage point on the ground, Rhys could see what seemed to be years’ worth of chewing gum stuck beneath the desk. A few pink blobs had been wedged to the bottom of the stool too.
The murky window that faced the police car sat low enough for Rhys to be able to see out of it. He’d had to stretch his back a little, but it gave him a decent view of the top half of the vehicle.
Another shift to try to find comfort on the hard and dirty concrete and Rhys watched the car. Sweat turned his back slick and a shake wobbled his hands.
“I’m scared, Rhys,” Larissa said as she remained curled in a ball on the ground.
“I know. I’m scared too. But everything will be okay.”
“How the fuck will everything be okay? You’ve left our son with a lunatic.”
After a deep sigh, Rhys closed his eyes for a second. He then looked down at Larissa beneath the desk. “That’s going to get old very fucking quickly. And is now really the time?”
Almost as if she’d forgotten herself for a moment, Larissa raised her voice. Her nostrils flared and her red, sweaty face turned a deeper shade of crimson. “But it’s true!”
Rhys balled his fist as he frowned down at his ex-wife. “What the fuck? Why don’t you just go outside with a sign that says ‘zombie bait’ on it? Shut the fuck up.”
Larissa’s face reddened to the point where it looked like she’d pop as she glared at Rhys. She ground her jaw, but she kept her mouth shut.
After he’d tugged at his collar, Rhys let it settle back against his itchy neck. If anything, it made the discomfort worse than before. He fanned his face with his palm and the very slight movement of air helped cool his skin just a fraction. “I know things seem really fucking desperate right about now, but we need to have faith. We can only control our intentions, so let’s put everything into that and believe that things will work out fine.”
Before Larissa could speak, Rhys heard the snorts and groans of the diseased and glanced outside again. Unable to see all the way to the brow of the hill, they still remained hidden from him. He lowered his voice some more. “Vicky said we could trust her.”
“And you’ve chosen to?”
Another glance outside. “Keep your voice down, yeah? If they hear us, we’re fucked in here.”
Never one for being told what to do, Larissa glared at Rhys again.
“I don’t think we have any choice but to trust her,” Rhys said. Anxiety fluttered through him. Truth be told, he didn’t trust Vicky one bit. She’d lied to him and was connected to the Eastern terrorists in some way. He could only guess at what that connection was. But he couldn’t show Larissa his true feelings. Besides, he needed to have faith since he didn’t have anything else to lean on.
Rhys looked back down at Larissa as she brushed her black hair away from her forehead. “Do you have any other alternatives?” he asked.
Larissa drew a deep breath as if to launch into a tirade, but when the screams of the diseased grew louder, it stopped her dead.
Rhys straightened his back and peered out of the window. Seven of the horrible fuckers came into view as they ran, full tilt, for the police car.
Larissa shook next to Rhys. She breathed rapidly and whimpered.
The first four of the diseased made it to the car and stopped. They scanned the area with their usual jerky head movements. Their glazed eyes seemed to look for changes in light rather than anything specific. Surely they only had a limited field of vision. They returned their attention to the car.
Rhys had left the driver’s side door open, so one of the diseased stuck its head in and sniffed, at least that’s what it seemed to do. From his current position and through the murky window, Rhys couldn’t be one hundred percent sure.
Rhys’ heart now beat so hard each thud rocked him where he sat. His mouth had turned dry in the humid booth and a stale taste lay along his tongue. He swallowed several times as he watched the diseased in the car lean farther forward and rest its hands on the driver’s seat. Rhys looked down at the dried blood on his own hands from where he’d done the same. It had formed a taut crust over his skin.
The diseased pulled back out of the car and held up its hands. For a second it simply stared at them as they glistened in the fading sun.
It then looked up at the sky and roared so loudly the entire world seemed to freeze in reaction, Rhys included. Not a call to action, the roar spoke of a broken spirit. It spoke of grief for a loved one. It spoke of a brotherhood or sisterhood that ran deeper than most human connections, almost as if the thing itself had been hurt.
In response, all of the other diseased copied the action. Diminished compared to the first, the sound still set the evening air alight with rage. As one, they descended on the abandoned car. In an uncoordinated melee, they threw slaps and kicks at the vehicle. The bodywork boomed from each blow. Then they pushed and rocked it as if they could turn the thing over.
Rhys’ stomach clenched as he watched the feral behaviour. He looked down at Larissa, who lay on the ground with her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open. He couldn’t explain what he saw to her because any noise could give them away. As Larissa continued to look to him for answers, Rhys turned to look back outside again.
When one of the diseased broke away from the group, Rhys’ heart damn near stopped. With its clumsy gait, it shuffled over toward the control booth. The slap of its foot hit the ground, followed by a drag of what must have been its trailing leg. It had an injury of some sort.
It hadn’t spotted Rhys, it would have screamed if it had, but the booth seemed to draw its interest. Although slow, the thing made progress toward Rhys and Larissa.
Rhys did what he could to make himself small. Maybe the smoked glass and what must be poor vision through the monster’s bloody eyes would keep them hidden from sight.
Maybe.
Who was he kidding?
With the diseased no more than a few metres away, Rhys shook worse than Larissa.
The monster worked its jaw as if it were in pain. If it even felt pain, that is. The desire to run sat loaded in Rhys’ muscles. If he needed to, he’d leave Larissa. He couldn’t let her drag him down. He looked back at the diseased and saw a bloody mess where its right ear should have been, not that it seemed to care or notice.
The diseased drew closer. Its foot slapped down and it dragged its back leg behind. Another slap of its foot and then a wet shush of its trailing leg. A slap of its front foot and a wet shush. A slap … then nothing as the thing stopped a few metres before it reached the booth.
It swayed where it stood and stared straight at Rhys. A tilt of its head to one side and it opened its mouth wide.
Rhys’ insides shrivelled and he pulled his knees tighter into his chest. He’d come so far surely it couldn’t end now.
Chapter 4
Seventeen months and two weeks ago
Vicky got off the tube at Leicester Square. Some commuters still remained in London, but at eight o’clock in the evening, most of them had gone home for the day.
Good job really; she didn’t need to be stuck on a packed and sweaty train in her dinner dress. Not a good first impression to turn up and smell of someone else’s body odour.
The ticket barrier opened for Vicky with a whoosh as she approached it. As long as she kept her pre-payment card somewhere on her person, the gates would recognise it. A green laser did a quick scan of her. It confirmed her profile matched her card by displaying a green tick while it made a loud ting. The gates remained open.
When she looked to her right, she caught sight of her reflection in the large black screens that usually ran adverts. Her flat shoes killed the look and did nothing for her legs, but Brendan had been very specific about her footwear. He’d been so specific in fact, that he freaked her out a little bit. The guy sounded like he had some kind of fetish. He assured her he had a good reason and she’d find out what it was when she got there. At least her practical footwear made the stairs easier to navigate.
Deep breaths failed to settle her pulse as she neared the station’s exit. She slowed her pace a little since it wouldn’t do to arrive out of breath. It had been a long time since she’d been on a date; she didn’t need to fuck it up from the start.
Two weeks had passed since her meltdown in the hospital. What an embarrassment for Brendan to have seen her like that. It would have been different had she actually given a shit about the woman, but after she’d cried in front of him, she felt a strong sense of relief that the old witch had finally gone.
Once at the top of the stairs, Vicky saw Brendan and lost her breath. A gust of warm air crashed into her when she stepped out into the street and stared at the man. Bigger than she remembered him to be, Brendan waited for her in a suit that had been so well tailored it fit him like a second skin. The guy looked like James Bond.
Brendan flashed his pearly white teeth in a broad smile. He walked over and kissed her on each cheek. The subtle yet strong smell of his aftershave suited the man, as she knew him so far. He seemed understated yet incredibly self-assured. She’d never dated anyone like him before.
As Brendan stepped away, he held both of her hands in his own and looked her up and down. He drank her in with his azure assessment before he finally looked back into her eyes, a broad smile on his face.
Vicky’s heart pounded and her mouth dried. She pulled her hands away so Brendan didn’t feel her sweaty palms.
“I’m so glad you came,” Brendan said.
“I’ll be honest,” Vicky replied. “I nearly didn’t. I felt so nervous. It’s been a long time since I’ve been out on a date with anyone.”
With another warm smile Brendan said, “Sorry to make you wear flat shoes by the way.”
“It’s fine. I must say I’m intrigued to know why flats are a stipulation though. I’d understand if you were five-foot-two, but I can’t imagine many women would make you feel small.” Heat smothered Vicky’s face. How corny did that sound?
Brendan smiled at her again.
Vicky needed to chill the fuck out. She never went to pieces around men. But then again, she’d never met someone like Brendan before. “So where are we going?” she asked.
Every year it seemed like a newer and taller skyscraper was added to London’s skyline. The buildings became more extravagant with each new erection. An architectural pissing contest, it didn’t seem like it would end anytime soon. The building of the moment stood in front of them and Brendan pointed at it.
Vicky gasped. “The Umbrella? But it’s only been open for three weeks. How did you manage to get a reservation?”
A shrug and Brendan said, “I have contacts.” He took one of her hands. “Come on, let’s go.”
The Umbrella, like most of the buildings in London, had been named so due to its appearance. A slim shaft hundreds of metres tall ran all the way up to a restaurant. The restaurant spread out in a huge dome like the top of an umbrella. Although only a nickname, it had stuck. The real name had something to do with the dull corporation that had built the building. Not that Vicky could remember who they were. Not that they would have cared anyway. The restaurant had probably taken enough profit in the first few weeks to pay back their investment and then some. The place took exclusive to a whole new level.
When they arrived at the front of the building, Vicky looked up the long column to the top while Brendan gave his name to a man in a suit. A few seconds later, they were led to a gold-plated door. After the man had pressed his finger against a scanner, the door opened to reveal the building’s foyer.
Two lift doors, both gold-plated, stood in the middle of the space. A spiral staircase began on either side of the lifts and wrapped around the back of them. When Vicky tilted her head to look up the glass structure, she saw the staircases made a helix as they twisted around one another all the way to the top. So tall, it made her head spin and the back of her neck ache. Vicky shook her head. “Imagine walking up those stairs.”
Brendan laughed. “No thanks.” He then stepped forward and pressed the call button. The lift pinged and the door on the left opened. Brendan stepped in and Vicky followed him.
Despite the height of the building only two buttons nestled in the gold plated control panel. “Most buildings this tall have so many buttons I go cross-
eyed trying to work out which one to press,” Vicky said.
“I know, right?”
The top button was engraved with an ‘R’ and the lower button with a ‘G’.
“Restaurant and ground,” Brendan said just before he pressed the button for the restaurant.
As the lift rose, the entire thing turned transparent. Clearly made from that fancy colour-changing glass, the projected image vanished and Vicky gasped as they watched the view of London unfold before them. At least it looked like London. It could quite easily be footage of London projected onto a screen.
A pre-recorded message began in a soft female voice from multiple speakers. “Built exclusively for the restaurant at the apex, The Umbrella is the ultimate dining experience. Among the finest restaurants in London, The Umbrella restaurant allows you to have dinner with the gods.”
When they reached the halfway point in their assent, Vicky finally remembered to close her open mouth. The recorded voice informed them that the shaft of the building stood at over four hundred metres tall. It accommodated the two lifts, the spiral staircase, and nothing else. Vicky looked up at the restaurant above them and the massive glass dome on top of the shaft. It had a diameter of over one hundred metres. The very outer edges hung down a good fifty metres lower than the point where the restaurant met the shaft. Vicky couldn’t even begin to guess how the thing remained upright.
As they continued to go up, Vicky stared out at the city. “This is amazing, Brendan.”
“Isn’t it?” Brendan said. “It’s my first time here too.”
The conversation died between them but not in an awkward first date kind of way. Vicky found herself mesmerised by the view. She looked across at the tall man next to her; he seemed equally as awestruck.
When Vicky looked down, her stomach lurched and she instinctively grabbed onto Brendan. Heat flushed her face when she glanced up and him. “It’s going to take some getting used to up here.”
The Alpha Plague - Books 1 - 8: A Post-Apocalyptic Action Thriller Page 36