The Alpha Plague 2 (6 page)

When Oscar turned back around, Rhys looked away.
 

After a moment of silence, Rhys looked back at him.
 

The big man’s blue eyes narrowed. “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said and looked down, “why the fuck do you have odd trainers on?”

Rhys focused on his feet and wiggled his toes. The sweat between them turned the movement slick. The previously new trainer looked far from that now. Both of them had brown stains from old blood and were scuffed from heavy use. A shrug of his shoulders, and Rhys pointed at the new one. “I found this one in a sports shop when I was leaving the city a few hours ago. After putting it on, I realised the other one would be somewhere in the store cupboard, and we didn’t want to hang around to look for it.”

The look on Oscar’s face said ‘you idiot’, but he kept his response to himself and turned to look at the shutter. It had lifted high enough for them to enter the shop.
 

A deep breath did little to settle the butterflies in Rhys’ stomach, so he pushed through it and ducked under the barrier as it continued to rise. Oscar let him lead the way and followed him in.

All of the shop’s displays and decor had bike themes. A huge wheel dominated the centre of the space. About two metres wide, it held at least thirty bikes and spun to allow customers to view the stock.

Although they led to a private area, the stairs in the corner of the shop had been made to look like cogs. The counter rested on top of a large set of replica handlebars. Made from glass, it had been filled with fireworks. Even the cycle clothing hung from hangers hooked over wheels suspended from the ceiling like model aeroplanes. The entire place smelled of oil and rubber.
 

Rhys walked to the back of the shop with Oscar at his side. From the corner of his eye, he caught movement beneath a pile of clothes and raised his baseball bat. Oscar did the same with his axe.

A girl emerged. Scruffy and no more than about five feet tall, she held a firework in one hand and a lighter in the other. The firework shook at the end of her outstretched arm.

Rhys stepped forward and then froze when she sparked the lighter at him.
 

“I’ll send this firework into your fucking
face
if you take another step closer.” Spittle shot from her mouth as she spoke.

Rhys raised his hands. “Calm down, love, we don’t mean you any harm.”

“Like fuck. If you didn’t mean me any harm, why the fuck have I been locked in this shitty shop for so long? I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re
not
keeping me in here any longer.”
 

With the firework still pointed at the pair, she made her way over to the large cycle display in the centre of the shop. All the while, she kept her eyes on Rhys and Oscar. “I expect you to stay there while I get the fuck out of here.”

When Oscar stepped forward, she thrust the firework in his direction. Her skin flushed red and her eyes widened. “I
mean
it.”
 

“Easy, princess,” said Oscar, his voice much kinder with her than it had ever been with Rhys. “All I wanted to say is it’s rough out there.”

She glanced down to where she’d been hiding. “Anything’s got to be better than sweating it out in here.”

Oscar winced. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

“He’s right,” Rhys said.

Another lunge with the firework, and the girl shouted through gritted teeth. “Stay the fuck back or I’ll light this thing.”

Rhys and Oscar looked at one another before Rhys said, “But you need to listen to us. It’s dangerous out there.”

She jabbed the firework at him again. “Back!”

After he’d stepped back, Rhys continued, “There are zombies out there.”

The girl stopped and tilted her head to one side. “Do I look like I was born yesterday?”

Rhys wanted to argue, but she had the lighter dangerously close to the firework’s fuse. With one hand, she tugged on a bike. All of the other bikes rattled as she fought to liberate the one she’d chosen. Instead of watching the girl, Rhys looked out into the street. She’d made enough noise to bring hell down on top of them.
 

When she’d pulled the bike free, she jumped onto the saddle. “Don’t you
dare
try to follow me.”

“Just listen to us,” Rhys said.

A spark of the lighter, and the girl lit the fuse. The touch paper hissed and she threw the firework down. Rhys ducked behind the counter and Oscar crouched behind the stairs.
 

A loud shriek and the firework shot across the floor before it exploded close to Oscar. Rhys’ ears rang from the sound.
 

When he stood back up again, he watched the girl as she raced from the shop. With the bike flick-flacking between her legs, she called over her shoulder, “You fucking arseholes. Fuck you and whatever it is you’re doing to this fucking city.”

Rhys looked at Oscar and held the security card up.
 

Oscar nodded.

In three quick steps, Rhys arrived at the control panel and swiped his card through it. As the metal shutter whirred, he watched the girl ride down the street, his heart heavy for her fate.
 

Before the shutter had closed completely, Rhys ducked down and looked through the gap at the bottom. Six diseased shot from an alleyway at a full sprint. They must have heard the bang. They crashed hard into the girl, which knocked both her and her bike to the ground.
 

Her scream rang through the quiet city. It was then replaced with a gargled sound as she choked on her own blood.

Just as the shutter closed fully, she fell silent and Rhys sighed. “Poor girl.”

“
Stupid
fucking girl more like,” Oscar said. “She’s better off dead than dragging us down.”

As much as Rhys wanted to berate the man, he had to agree with him. The girl would have hindered any chance they had of survival. Shame she had to go out like that though.

Chapter Nine

The pair spent about the next fifteen minutes in the shop. The first thing they did was pick bikes. Before they’d entered, anything with two wheels would have done. Once faced with a large choice, they became a lot pickier.
 

Oscar had found a small amount of petrol and turned a water bottle into another Molotov cocktail. He tore a rag off one of the shop’s own branded t-shirts that had ‘COGS’ written across it in capital letters. He stuffed it into the bottle.

Rhys had gone on a search for bags to fill with fireworks and found a stash of energy drinks. The disgusting things stank, tasted like bleach, and dehydrated him; on the plus side, he vibrated with so much nervous energy he felt like he could outrun a racehorse. The jagged anxiety seemed like a small price to pay for the renewed vigour.

After he’d taken a lighter from the box on the side, Rhys threw one at Oscar. He then slipped his new rucksack—heavy with fireworks—onto his back and wheeled the mountain bike he’d chosen to the card reader that would let them out. “You ready?”

Before Oscar said anything, Rhys sniffed the air. The familiar tang of rot hung heavy. He screwed his nose up and pressed a finger to his lips.

The cold shutter stung the side of his face when he leaned into it and listened. The rank smell increased tenfold with the slight move forward and sent hot saliva down the back of his throat. His pulse galloped when he heard it. Breathing; nothing more, just the collective rattle of wet lungs.
 

Oscar stared at Rhys with wide eyes and Rhys shook his head.
 

While he held his breath, Rhys gently leaned his bike against a stand loaded with water bottles. Caffeine and sugar rushed through his system and ran a violent shake through his entire body. His anxiety ratcheted up several notches. Once he’d made sure his bike wouldn’t fall, Rhys walked over to the cog-shaped stairs.
 

At the top, he found a thick steel door. A swipe of his security card popped it from its frame. When he pushed it wide, the hinges creaked.
 

The low sun dazzled him when he stepped out onto the roof and the heat of the day smothered him like a tight blanket.
 

A dusting of light stones lay over the three-metre square flat roof. Several large plant pots with a couple of dry and ratty stalks poking up from the soil inside sat at the edge as if ready to be toppled onto the diseased below. The stones crunched beneath Rhys’ feet when he walked across it with Oscar by his side.
 

When they got to the edge and looked down, Rhys’ heart jolted and the rock of anxiety in his stomach pinched tighter.
 

The sea of diseased stretched so far back that Rhys would have struggled to drive a golf ball over the top of them. As he watched them, he shuddered; something about the way they stood around slid an itchy discomfort beneath his skin. Many of them shuffled as if in a perpetual battle to keep their balance, yet most of them seemed relatively calm.
 

The bloody eyes looked everywhere but up. It would have been easy to assume the monsters were blinded by the thick secretion, but Rhys had been on the receiving end of their attention. Whatever they could see when they faced him was enough to hunt him down with hawk-like focus. Rhys spoke in a whisper, “They’re waiting for us to come out.”

When Oscar didn’t reply, Rhys looked to see him staring out over the crowd. His strong jaw hung lose, and his wide eyes searched the mob.
 

A shake of his head, and Rhys pulled his hair away from his sticky forehead. “We’re fucked, Oscar. We’re fucked.”

Chapter Ten

Oscar ground his jaw as he looked out over the diseased mob. “I knew I should have broken that fucking girl’s neck.”

A chill ran through Rhys as he stared at the big man, who had malice in his cold stare. Sometimes people said things like that and didn’t mean it; Oscar’s icy tone suggested he not only meant, but he embodied every syllable of it.

Rhys stepped back from the edge of the roof. “It looks like every one of the fuckers from the car park found their way here.”

If he’d have stepped back any farther he would have been completely hidden from view, but none of the mob had seen him or Oscar yet, and he couldn’t resist the opportunity to watch them. They stood patiently as if waiting in line. It was easy to write these things off as mindless monsters, but they knew what they were doing. They knew Rhys and Oscar were inside the bike shop—or had a sense of it. Maybe they didn’t understand why they congregated there, but they had a compulsion to remain there at the very least.

A particularly strong gust of wind cooled the sweat on Rhys’ brow and drove the strong reek of rot into his face. Rhys screwed his nose up against the tang and continued to watch the crowd of diseased.
 

Some of them caught his eye more than others. A big, fat woman stood near the front. The hole in the side of her neck looked like someone had removed a ten-ounce steak from it. It glistened with a yellowish tinge as if it had started to ooze pus already. Her loose-fitting shirt had been torn open and one of her massive saggy breasts hung from it like an old, half-filled sack.
 

Behind and to the left of the woman, a small boy bit at the air. No older than Flynn, he looked scared and confused, like he needed direction on who to bite. Half of his hair had been ripped off and revealed a dark-red, tacky scalp. Blood ran down his arm from a deep bite mark in his bicep.

Most of the infected wore suits, but some wore the official uniform of the Summit City police or fire brigade.
 

Wet squelches joined the moans and groans. Many of the diseased existed as animated wounds. The heavy, phlegmy death rattle and click
of snapping teeth added percussion to the low-level hum of suffering.

It took all of Rhys’ energy to hold his gasp in when Oscar yanked him back. “What are you
doing
?” he said. “Are you trying to get them to notice you or something?”

So far back now that he couldn’t see them and they couldn’t see him, Rhys said, “I was just watching them. They’re not mad like they have been every other time I’ve bumped into them. Do you think the effects of the virus are wearing off?”

A sharp shake of his head and Oscar laughed without humour. “
No
, of course they’re not. They just haven’t seen us yet,” he raised an eyebrow at Rhys, “although if you keep on trying to give us away like you are…”

Heat rushed to Rhys’ cheeks and he looked down. Oscar may have been a prick, but Rhys had no defence for his actions. He could have given them away just because of his curiosity.

“What goes through your head, Rhys?”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking
child
.”

“Stop behaving like one then.”

“Whatever,” Rhys said. Before the big man could reply, he added, “Anyway, it’s not like I’m giving us away. They obviously know we’re in the shop. Why would they be gathered around outside if they didn’t?”
 

“Of course they know we’re in here, but that’s no reason to confirm it by showing them. If they don’t see something to get wound up about then they won’t get wound up, will they?”
 

“Okay,” Rhys said, “so if you know so much about them, what do we do now?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know? Your new girlfriend knew a lot of shit about the diseased. What would Vicky do?”

The comment caught Rhys off guard. He watched Oscar through narrowed eyes and studied his features for his reaction. “I’ve not told you her name yet.”

The moment of uncertainty Rhys had seen with the whole Adam / Alan incident didn’t present itself like he’d expected it to. “You’ve said it about ten times already. She’s
all
you talk about. I have a good memory for names.” A playful smile and he shook his head. “
Clearly
much better than yours.”

The signs may have been less obvious this time, but Rhys
hadn’t
mentioned Vicky by name. It had been a conscious choice; the less he told the big man, the better.