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

by Michael Robertson

  Unlike the previous evening, the door to the communal building hung wide open and the firelight spilled out into the forecourt. It showed the family in the cage more clearly than when she’d last visited. Before Vicky knew it, she said, “They look like fucking ghosts.”

  The family only held Vicky’s attention for as long as it took her to notice the woman outside the cage. The look of her sent ice through her blood. Moira.

  A witch of a woman, Moira peered in at the family and the man in the cage. The flickering light from inside the communal building turned her twisted leer into a gargoyle’s mask.

  When Moira laughed, her wicked cackle cut through the night and all five of the prisoners jumped. So taken over with her glee, she arched her back and pushed her pelvis forward. “Someone will have to make a decision sooner or later, you know?” she said once she’d finished laughing.

  Although Moira addressed the people in the cage, none of them responded. The family huddled in one corner, the mum and dad hugging the children close; the older man huddled in the other, his eyes wide as he stared at the family and shivered. It hadn’t been cold enough in months for hypothermia, but the man looked to be in a bad way with something.

  The crush of plastic water bottles called out as Moira slipped them through the gaps in the cage. “I’ll give you guys all the water you can drink. However, to get food, you’ll need to be”—she looked from the family to the man and back to the family as a wicked grin stretched across her gaunt face—“resourceful.”

  In the silence that followed, Vicky’s heart beat so hard it damn near rocked her where she stood. Each throb of her pulse kicked like a fucking horse.

  Vicky’s stress level peaked when the mum’s shrill scream rang through the night. She stepped toward the older man in the cage. Her face twisted with rage as she jabbed her finger at him. “You’d best not touch my fucking children. I swear, if you come near us, I’ll bite your fucking throat out.”

  The two teenage girls’ eyes widened as they looked at their mum.

  Moira continued to grin and bounced on the spot as if struggling to contain her excitement.

  The unspoken had been pretty obvious, but something about the dad’s words sank frigid dread through Vicky.

  “Just so you know,” he said to the man, his voice low, “you ain’t eating any of us. If I were you, I’d take that idea from your head right now.”

  Chapter 21

  Vicky kept her back to the group and looked out over the swaying grass. They were in the meadow directly outside Home, not more than fifty metres from its front door. She didn’t need to watch the children being buried. Another three little ones that wouldn’t inherit this shitty world. And she didn’t need to be amongst the others either. Most of the people at Home still looked at her like she’d killed them herself. Besides, they needed a few of them to keep watch in case any diseased gate-crashed the funeral.

  And what could Vicky say to the people of Home anyway? If she got captured and had a chance to escape again, she’d do it. A twisted bitch like Moira would always find an excuse to kill regardless of what happened around her. They needed to end her before she got to more innocent people. As long as Moira lived, she’d inflict pain.

  Three other guards stood watch with Vicky. They formed a square around the congregation and took a corner each. Piotr, Flynn, and Serj all looked out over the open space.

  From her position Vicky could see Piotr to her left and Flynn to her right but not Serj. He stood behind her on the opposite corner of the square. Both Piotr and Flynn’s faces reflected the heavy mood. They wore deep scowls as the wind buffeted their hair and clothes while they stood ready for the diseased should they turn up.

  No matter how many deep breaths or blinks, Vicky couldn’t rid herself of her tiredness. Aches sat in her heavy body. Another late night from visiting Moira’s community, followed by tossing and turning until it got early enough to get out of bed; it had been days since she’d had a good night’s sleep. The lives of those at Home and Moira’s prisoners rested so heavy on her shoulders she felt barely able to move at times. If she had the chance, she’d have to get the camouflaged family out too.

  The brief flash of summer yesterday had vanished. More grey clouds clogged the sky and the wind picked up to the point where it cut to Vicky’s core. Maybe it had been the grief of the past few days that had created the rock in her stomach, maybe her exhaustion caused her perpetual tremble; either way, the bitter wind certainly didn’t help. In just a T-shirt and jeans, of course she’d feel it, and gooseflesh covered her arms.

  Another scan of the horizon and Vicky turned to look at Scoop. She hugged a sobbing Meisha close to her. As the only one of them not on sentry duty, she gave the funeral service. Of all the guards, she was the closest to Sharon and Dan, so it seemed appropriate.

  The amount of people gathered around made it impossible for Vicky to see the three children’s bodies. But because she’d helped lay them down and had dug their graves, she knew Scoop was standing right by them.

  “As a parent,” Scoop said, her tone sombre, her eyes glazed when she looked at Sharon and Dan, “I can’t imagine what you’re having to go through at the moment. No one should outlive their children. I’m so sorry.”

  Both Sharon and Dan nodded at her before they dropped their gaze to the ground again.

  “Jack, Lola, and Alvin were good kids. They were always polite, always full of energy, and always eager to help whenever they were needed. They were a credit to your wonderful parenting.” Scoop’s bottom lip buckled. “They shone brighter than the sun.”

  A lump rose in Vicky’s throat and she heard some of the crowd break, the near silence punctuated with their gentle sobs.

  The start of tears itched Vicky’s eyeballs and she blinked repeatedly, but it did little to prevent her view of the world from blurring and her throat aching in grief.

  Although Scoop spoke again, Vicky snapped out of her sadness when she turned to see an awkward form travelling towards them through the long grass. Lopsided shoulders and limp arms, the diseased woman swayed as if she were as susceptible to the breeze as the nature surrounding her. She loosed a scream that cut Scoop dead and many of the congregation looked over.

  Vicky cleared the lump from her throat and shouted, “Carry on.”

  As the next closest guard to the diseased, Flynn stepped forward with Vicky to meet the creature.

  Nearly telling him to stay back, Vicky kept it to herself. No need to humiliate the boy in front of everyone.

  Vicky took off towards the diseased woman at a jog and another one appeared over the brow of the hill beside her. The second one—a man—stood tall and slim. As she looked at him, she stopped and raised her crossbow.

  Because they were downwind from the diseased, Vicky smelled their rotten stench. She shouldered her crossbow as Flynn ran past her, closed one eye to improve her aim, and pulled the trigger. The weapon kicked as she fired the bolt and a second later red mist exploded out the back of the taller one’s head. His legs buckled beneath him and he went down.

  Vicky loaded a second bolt and dispatched the diseased woman before Flynn could reach her. Her legs turned to jelly and she too folded to the ground.

  Still five metres away, Flynn stopped, his shoulders slumped. “I can kill them you know.”

  “I know you can,” Vicky replied.

  “Then why waste your bolts? Why not let me take one?”

  “I thought I was doing both of us a favour. They’re dangerous, Flynn—”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “So why fuck about? If I can take them out, then I should, right? I’m not having the blood of any more people on my hands. Especially not yours.”

  “So now you take responsibility?”

  “I’ve always taken responsibility for you, Flynn.”

  “I’m not talking about being responsible for me. You’ve been too fucking responsible for me. I’m talking about that mess over there.” Flynn looked
in the direction of the pen of diseased.

  Vicky lowered her voice and moved closer to him so only he could hear her. “We’re doing that to protect people.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be grateful to know that.”

  Vicky didn’t respond.

  The pair turned and walked back toward the funeral service. Both of them looked out for more diseased. When they got closer to the gathered crowd, Vicky spoke beneath her breath. “Do yourself a favour.”

  Flynn looked at her.

  “Stop being such a jumped-up little prick.”

  Although he looked like he would respond, he kept it to himself. Never appropriate to kick off at a funeral, even the petulant teenager knew when to shut the fuck up.

  They continued the rest of the walk back in silence and Vicky watched many people in the crowd looking up as if to check for more diseased. Although she felt Flynn’s rage burning into the side of her face, she didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him. He could keep his fury.

  Closer still to the group, Vicky and Flynn split to return to their respective posts.

  Although she kept her wits, Vicky turned to watch Sharon and Dan lower their children’s bodies into their graves. They tossed earth on top of them. The guards had dug relatively shallow because it would have taken too long to go six feet down.

  After Dan stepped back, he looked up at Vicky, tears streaming down his face, rage and accusation burning in his glare. She’d seen that look a lot lately, but it didn’t hurt any less for the familiarity.

  At Home Vicky felt guilty because of the dead children. Away from Home she felt guilty because of the prisoners. If she went to them when she’d promised to, she’d go tomorrow, but she couldn’t do that. She wasn’t ready yet. And then she had the family in the cage—the family they should have saved when they were getting door locks from Wilkinson’s. The family that would have been free now had her and Serj done the right thing by them.

  Vicky turned away from Dan and walked towards Home’s entrance. The large door sat embedded in the steep but short hill. The service had nearly wrapped up, so she needed to get the door open for everyone; they’d be tempting fate if they stayed outside for too long.

  Chapter 22

  Tuesday morning, eight a.m. Vicky never liked the meetings, and with the funeral yesterday, she nearly didn’t come to this one. Now she’d arrived, she realised maybe she should have listened to her gut. As she walked up and down in front of the line of people leaning against the wall, every face stared at her like they wanted to kill her—everyone but the guards and Stuart.

  Barefoot as always, Vicky paced the blue crash mats and breathed in the familiar smell of bleach. The cold rubbery surface gave way beneath her every step as the padding took her weight.

  Vicky splayed her toes out as if to press every part of her foot into the soft mat. The more connected she felt to the ground, the more stable she would be in a fight. Half the people in there looked like they’d challenge her that morning.

  After Sharon and Dan had made it perfectly clear who they held accountable for the death of their children, many of the other Home residents seemed to have got on-board with their way of thinking. Everything had been fine until the new girl showed up!

  The screens on the canteen’s wall played footage of the long-grassed meadow. A large patch had been crushed beneath the feet of the funeral goers, and three wooden crosses protruded from a mound of churned-up earth. To look at the image nearly robbed Vicky of her zeal, but she had to go on; they all had to go on.

  “Aaron, from the farm,” Vicky said, her raised voice carrying through the vast room.

  “Jack Blythe.” She looked at Sharon and Dan.

  “Lola Blythe.”

  “Alvin Blythe.”

  The four names grabbed the attention of the room and Vicky let the silence hang for longer than felt natural. Just a few weeks ago she hated talking to large groups of people; now, she manipulated the silence as a skilled orator would. She held so long, half the people leaned forward in anticipation of her next words. “Moira killed the last three and still—hopefully—has Aaron imprisoned. I say hopefully because the alternatives don’t bear thinking about. The barbaric community at the bottom of the hill has existed next to Home for years—”

  “And we’ve been all right so far,” Dan Blythe called out.

  The guy had been through hell, so Vicky replied with as gentle a tone as she could manage. “Tell that to Aaron.”

  Silence ran through the place.

  “If he’s still alive, that is.”

  It hurt to make the statement. If Vicky had returned to the prisoners in the two days she’d promised them, she would have busted them out yesterday. But everything had changed when the children were killed; she had to make sure the people at Home were ready to put a stop to Moira before she waded in. Sure, they had the pen of diseased, but if that failed, they’d have to fight.

  “Imagine being dropped into a dark pit full of diseased,” Vicky said. “Or being put in a hole and having decapitated heads dropped on you while you scream.”

  Some of the faces in the room twisted at the mention of Moira’s form of torture.

  “Imagine being fed pig swill covered in used sanitary towels. Imagine having such a bad stomach you shit yourself every time you sneeze. Not only that, but you have to live on hard concrete ground with no covers and twenty other people witnessing your shame. Imagine being covered in festering sores and feeling like you’re going to freeze to death every night.”

  People shifted where they stood, clearly feeling discomfort at Vicky’s words. And so they should.

  “Imagine being laughed at, kicked, and made fun of all day, every day. Imagine being chained up and taken out to hunt the diseased for no other reason than it gives your captors pleasure.”

  Again, Vicky let the silence linger. The faces looked no less angry with her, but they seemed more engaged with what she had to say.

  “Moira does this to people, and she’s going to do it a hell of a lot more.” Vicky’s pulse sped. “She’s going to move in on this community, and she’s going to do this to all of you. We were training to go to war; we all knew that. I, for one, would rather be prepared”—she pointed at the wall of monitors in the canteen—“than be caught out when an army of people turn up outside. If we’re going to remain safe, we have to hit them first.”

  A few of the faces changed. Anger gave way to the slow dawning of acceptance.

  “What Moira’s done to the Blythe children cannot go unpunished.”

  Some people nodded.

  Vicky punched her left palm with her right fist and her voice echoed in the cavernous room. “Even if I have to go on my own, I’m going to take the fight to her. I refuse to lie down and wait for her to come to us.”

  Although Vicky had more, Stuart stepped forward from the line of people. “I’ll go with you.”

  A few seconds passed—a few long and drawn-out seconds where it looked like Vicky and Stuart would be on their own—and then Flynn stepped forward. He might be pissed off with her, but he said, “I’d follow you to hell and back, Vicky, you know that.”

  A wet swell of emotion bulged in Vicky’s throat and she nodded as she fought to gulp it down.

  Serj and Piotr, Mary, Jules, Jacob … one by one, the people of Home stepped forward and pledged to fight beside Vicky.

  “This isn’t about liking me,” Vicky said while she paced in front of the people, one or two stepping forward with every passing second, “this is about protection. About making sure we’re not taken over by a psychopath like Moira. About making sure she doesn’t get to anyone else in this place.”

  When just Sharon and Dan remained pressed against the wall, Vicky walked over to them. “I’m so, so sorry for your loss. Nothing can bring your children back, I know that, but I’m going to make sure Moira pays for what she did.” Pains streaked up the sides of Vicky’s face from clenching her jaw, and spittle shot from her mouth. “I’ll cut her
eyes out and leave her heart in so she has to feel the pain for as long as her body will let her. I won’t rest until she’s dead, I promise you that.”

  Both Sharon and Dan watched Vicky. Their eyes glazed as the tears built up inside of them. First Dan, and then Sharon, nodded at Vicky’s promise.

  Vicky clapped her hands together and the crack of it snapped through the large room. “We go in five days’ time,” she said. “Ready or not, we need to take the fight to Moira’s community and roll right over them.”

  More nods than before, the room finally seemed to be warming up to Vicky’s suggestions.

  “Until then, I want everyone preparing for war. We need to make more weapons. Spears and clubs will be best.”

  A wave of nods ran up and down the line.

  “Any questions?” Vicky said.

  Stuart raised his hand and the people around him sighed.

  Vicky nearly did too, but Stuart had been the first to support her. “Yes, Stuart?”

  “What if we lose?”

  “We fight to win.”

  The least definite answer she’d ever given him and Vicky waited for his comeback. Instead, Stuart nodded and said, “Okay. I’m ready.”

  No one else seemed to have any questions, so Vicky said, “All of you need to rest up and get ready for this. We need to have fire in our bellies and courage in our hearts.”

  The crowd dispersed and the guards came over to be with Vicky. All except Scoop, she hadn’t been at the meeting either.

  Before Vicky could ask the others if they’d seen her, she noticed a disturbance in the exiting crowd. A woman rushed against the tide, shoving them away as she elbowed her way through.

  When Vicky made eye contact with Scoop, her heart kicked. Before she could get close, Vicky called, “What’s up?”

  “Meisha,” Scoop said, and Vicky’s stomach plummeted.

  Wide-eyed and breathless, Scoop hissed, “She’s gone.”

  Chapter 23