The Alpha Plague 2 (14 page)

The large man worked his jaw in large circles. His ears clearly hurt. But more importantly, Rhys saw the grey splash on the unbroken window in front of him.
 

Rhys stood up, picked up his baseball bat, and stared into Oscar’s cold glare. He laughed, “The glass, it’s bulletproof. Ha, who’s the fucking
idiot
now?” He pointed at the big man. “You’re fucked in there, Oscar, and there’s fuck all you can do about it. Although you should consider yourself lucky—burning’s too good for you. I can think of many more ways to kill you that would be far more appropriate. Terrorists should have their balls removed without anaesthetic just for starters.”

“
Terrorist
? You were the ones who created this cursed virus. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for
your
vile government.”

Two slow steps forward and Rhys had closed the distance between them. The stained pane of bulletproof glass separated them.

In a blink, Oscar raised his gun again and cracked off another bullet at the window.
 

A flash exploded between them and Rhys recoiled from the loud bang.
 

The splash on the window, although darker, remained as just surface-level damage.
 

Before Rhys could say anything else, Oscar screamed and kicked the doors. Veins stood out on the man’s thick neck as he savagely beat the barrier that kept him contained.

Each blow moved the doors ever so slightly before they returned to where they were. The lab coat’s tight knot held them better than the baseball bat ever could. “There’s no way you’re getting out, Oscar. Face it, pal, you’ve lost.”

Red-faced and wide-eyed, Oscar turned to the large window that separated the two rooms and shot it—a loud bang, a grey splash, but still no broken glass.
 

When Oscar lifted the office chair in the room, Rhys laughed at him.
 

Oscar threw it against the window and the thing bounced off it with a loud
crash
. When it came back at him, Oscar had to jump out of the way before it clattered on the floor.
 

Rhys watched the big man as he stood lame on the other side of the glass. “It looks like you’ve run out of options. Not so confident now, are you?”

So close to the window his breath turned it misty, Oscar watched Rhys for a moment. “You were quick to realise that the story about my brother was bullshit. I do have a brother, but he lives in Kent and doesn’t have Down’s. I imagine he’ll be vomiting up his own blood before the week’s out… if he even lasts that long.” A grin stretched across his face. “You’ll see the same happen to your boy soon, and when you do, think of me saying ‘I told you so’.”

Rhys wrung the handle of his bat but didn’t reply.
 

“You fucked up by leaving him with Vicky, you know? Oh, and you were right about that too; you never told me her name. I’ve known Vicky for some time now. We go
way
back. She’s not who you think she is, and you trusted her with your child… pretty fucking dumb, if you ask me.”

Rhys’ breath quickened. “What are you talking about?”

“Turn the order to incinerate off and let me out.”

“No.”

“I’m not telling you anything then. Let’s just hope your boy’s okay when you get to him, eh? Not that you’re going to make it back through the city.”

Rhys shook as he retrieved his walkie-talkie from his tight pocket. He took a deep breath to calm himself before he switched it on.
 

Static hissed out of the small speaker. No signal. Rhys pressed the button anyway. “Vicky, it’s Rhys. Can you hear me?”

Nothing but static.

Oscar laughed. “Poor little foolish Rhys. The man who trusted too much.”

“You’re right, I did trust too much. I knew you were a bad egg from the start, but I ignored my gut feeling and that’s on me. I should have cut you loose immediately, Oscar, you fucking prick.”

“Brendan,” Oscar said.

“What?”

“My name’s Brendan. Tell Vicky that Brendan says hi when you speak to her. Watch her reaction.”

Rhys frowned so hard it hurt.

“She was a good fuck, you know.”

While he backed away, Rhys shook his head. He had to get out of there. Time spent with Oscar ate into the time he needed to escape. He looked at Flynn’s Superman watch. Just over one hour and forty-five minutes before the city burned hotter than hell.
 

Oscar grinned and waved at Rhys as he backed away. “Bye bye, Rhys. You ain’t making it out of this city before it burns. Not with the hell you’ve just released out there and not without someone to bail you out as much as I have.”

“At least I have a chance, you sick fuck. You have none. Good fucking riddance, you horrible bastard.”

The sound of Oscar, or Brendan, or whatever his fucking name was, chased Rhys as he ran down the corridor away from him. “I should have fucking shot you when we were in the lift.”
 

Rhys stopped and turned around. “But you didn’t, did you? And you know why?”

Oscar paced up and down as he stared at Rhys.
 

“Because
you
needed
me
to survive; that leg of yours is fucked and you couldn’t last without me. Sure, you did bail me out, but with your leg as it is now, you’re less than useless.” Rhys headed for the first set of doors.

A string of shouted abuse preceded several more thuds as Oscar kicked the shit out of the doors. But Rhys didn’t look back. When he got to the first quarantine door, he swiped his card through the reader and it opened.
 

After he’d stepped through, he waited for the door to close behind him, lifted his baseball bat, and looked at Oscar one last time. With gritted teeth, he yelled and smashed the small black box off the wall.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Once Rhys had passed through the last door at the end of the long corridor, he smashed the card reader from the wall as he’d done with the others. The brittle plastic shattered and tinkled on the ground. A black rectangular plate remained with wires that hung down from it like entrails.

The section closest to the lift stank from the metallic stench of blood combined with the diseased reek of rot. Rhys could almost taste it.

A glance back to the room at the end sent a chill through Rhys when he saw Oscar. The big man dipped his head and watched Rhys from beneath his brow while he rocked from side to side.
If he doesn’t burn when the city goes up…
Rhys shook the thought away. It didn’t serve him to think about it. Besides, how the fuck would Oscar get out of that room and off the island before it burned?

The lift doors closed most of the way, but bashed into the leg of the dead scientist lying half in the lift and half in the corridor. Then the doors opened again. Each time they opened, a pre-recorded
ting
punched through the silence. The repetitive sound rang as the final ingredient of the madness that surrounded Rhys. Like a broken child that did nothing but head-butt a wall, it needed someone to stop it.
 

When Rhys got close to the man, he looked at his name badge again rather than the deep wound in his face. As he lifted his feet, he said, “Sorry, Wilfred,” and pulled him back.
 

The first tug didn’t move the fat man. A deep breath and Rhys pulled harder. This time he moved, but only slightly.

After several more tugs, a layer of sweat stood out on Rhys’ body and his shirt stuck to him. He put his foot in the way of the door so it didn’t close and removed his walkie-talkie again. The hiss of static responded when he turned it on. He pressed the button. “Vicky? Vicky?” A loud wash of white noise answered him. “Fuck it.”

***

The confined lift smelled as bad as the hallway, if not worse. No matter where he stood, Rhys couldn’t avoid the sharp vinegar tang of decay. Although Rhys had fought the scientist in the hallway, Oscar had killed him in the lift and a large patch of blood had spread out over the floor.

Adrenaline shook Rhys’ hand when he pressed the ground floor button. As the doors closed on the nightmare that had spawned this entire fiasco, Rhys took deep breaths. He’d not even begun to see the worst of it yet. Thousands more people released into the city could only end badly. The only way he could survive would be to take advantage of the early insanity. If he did, then maybe he’d have a chance… maybe.

Rhys’ stomach tingled as the lift lowered with a monotonous whir. He checked his watch; one hour and forty minutes left for him to get out of Summit City.
 

When the button for the tenth floor lit up, Rhys rolled his shoulders and swayed from side the side. The diseased fuck who had tried to get into the lift when they went up would no doubt be waiting for him at the bottom.
 

At the ninth floor, Rhys chewed the inside of his mouth and waited. Oscar had said Vicky couldn’t be trusted, but Rhys had trusted her.

Floor eight.
 

He’d trusted her with the most important thing in his world. What an idiot.
 

Floor seven.
 

Maybe Oscar said it to get under Rhys’ skin. Rhys must’ve mentioned Vicky’s name, which is where Oscar got it. The guy was imprisoned now and had a ticking clock on his existence. In well under two hours, he’d be burned to ash. He’d say anything to get out.
 

Floor six.
 

Wouldn’t he? But what if he did know Vicky? What if there was something about her that she hadn’t told Rhys?
 

Floor five.
 

Rhys rocked back and forth. She had the most important thing in his life with her. She could do anything to him.
 

Floor four.

A shake of his head and Rhys focused on the lift’s descent.
 

Floor three.

Without the space to swing the bat, he held it horizontally with the thick end pointed at the doors; much like he had when they went to the top floor. With one hand in the middle and the other at the handle end, he had it ready to drive forward like a mini battering ram to smash the nose of the infected fuck on the other side.

Floor two.
 

She wouldn’t do anything to Flynn. She could have fucked Rhys over at any point and chose not to.
 

Floor one.

The smug face of Oscar with his wide grin came into Rhys’ mind’s eye.
 

Ground floor.

Panic fluttered through Rhys’ chest and he bounced on the spot. There’d best be no more than one diseased when the doors opened. He couldn’t cope with more.

The ‘G’ button turned green and the lift eased to a gentle stop with a slight bounce. A light
ping
sounded out. Rhys drew a deep breath and stared at the crack in the door with unblinking eyes.
 

A gap opened up in it and the phlegmy death rattle of the diseased snaked into the lift with the reek of death. The stench caught in Rhys’ throat and his eyes watered. He remained alert, ready to lunge.
 

The doors opened as if in slow motion. First, he saw one bloody eye, then two. A wide mouth hung beneath them. The thing snapped its jaws and butted the doors as if trying to ram through.
 

Adrenaline surged through Rhys, but he held back. If he attacked at the wrong time, it would be game over. The first blow had to count; he wouldn’t get a second chance.

When the gap opened to about a foot wide, the thing lurched forward. It came to an abrupt halt as it crashed into the doors, its shoulders too wide for the small gap.

With a clenched jaw, Rhys pulled the bat back.
 

The door opened another inch and he drove the thick end of the bat forward. With his entire body behind it, he rammed it square into the centre of the monster’s face.
 

A moist crunch and the creature yelled then stumbled backward.
 

Rhys jumped sideways through the gap into the foyer. His rucksack hit the doors, but he made it through.
 

Before the diseased could regain its senses, Rhys—his vision blurred from the stink of the thing—switched his grip on his bat. He wrapped both hands around the handle and drove a full-bodied roundhouse swing at it. Its head snapped to the side and its legs folded beneath it. It hit the ground so hard Rhys felt the thud through his feet.

Another swing—downwards this time—and Rhys cracked its skull.

A loud scream and Rhys kicked the dead thing in the gut.
 

It barely moved.
 

He screamed again and his voice echoed around the large foyer. “Vicky, you cunt,” he yelled as he kicked it again, and again, and again.
 

“You’d best be looking after my boy.” Each kick shifted it a few inches away from him.
 

Tears burned his eyes and ran down his cheeks and he continued to drive blow after blow into its midsection. “I swear you’ll pay if anything happens to him.”

Kick, after kick, after kick.

***

Rhys’ ankle ached and his shin stung from the amount of kicks he’d driven into the corpse. Tears coursed down his cheeks and grief ran a heavy stutter through his breaths.

Rhys dropped his head and heaved a heavy sigh. “Please let him be okay. Please.”

Rhys finally looked around to see there were no other diseased in the foyer. Good job, really—he hadn’t given it any thought until then. Another fucking mistake like that and he’d be dead.
Get your head together, Rhys. Don’t make Oscar right. All you can do is get to Vicky.

He glanced at his watch. One hour and thirty-five minutes left.
 

When Rhys moved, his back ached again. Two long strides and he broke into a run. It would have to hurt for the time being; he couldn’t slow down.

Rhys’ footsteps echoed in the empty foyer and his back loosened up as he moved.
 

When he reached the main doors that exited The Alpha Tower, he dropped his shoulders and heaved a weary sigh. “Fuck it.”