Authors: Michael Robertson
The assault on the police barricade stopped, and as one, the diseased took off after her.
Despite the distance and chaotic mob between them, Rhys still heard her clearly. “That’s it, you stupid bastards. Come on, follow me.”
As the diseased left the bridge, Rhys’ heart galloped to the point where he struggled to breathe. She’d given him the opportunity to escape and rescue Flynn. The burn of tears itched his eyeballs. She should have told him before she did it. He wouldn’t have let her go; she knew that as much as he did.
Rhys picked up Vicky’s bat, rubbed his eyes, cleared the lump from his throat, and headed over to the now empty bridge.
When he got close, the sickly sweet funk of death floated in the air. The sheer density of the crowd had turned the atmosphere sour, even after they’d gone.
But before he stepped onto the bridge, Rhys watched Vicky, the thunderous call of hundreds of clumsy feet on her trail. He had a clear view of her from his elevated position. She ran straight for a small florist’s shop. Of course… her card.
A loud
crash
sounded as Vicky collided with the shutter at the front of the shop. Even from this distance, Rhys saw the flash of her white card as she swiped it through the florist’s reader. The metal shutter lifted—slowly; too fucking slowly.
While he chewed on his bottom lip, Rhys watched the shutter and then the gap between Vicky and the diseased. They were gaining on her. She didn’t have the time to wait for it, but she waited anyway. She divided her attention between the mob behind, and the barrier as it slowly rose.
As the diseased got closer, each one loosed its own scream at the sky.
Vicky paced up and down and kept her eyes on the diseased. Surely she would run. It was the worst game of chicken ever. Rhys would have shit himself by now and bottled it. Not that Rhys would have put himself in that situation in the first place. She was a hero. She’d sacrificed herself for a photo and a sob story.
The shutter continued to rise, and Vicky held her ground.
When the gap grew large enough, Vicky dropped to her front and dragged herself under. Her entire upper body disappeared, but her legs still hung out when the first creature hit the shutter with a loud
crash
.
Several more clattered into it. One of the leaders grabbed at Vicky’s foot, but she kicked out and managed to pull herself under and out of sight.
Then the shutter stopped.
It dropped again.
She must have swiped the reader inside.
Some of the diseased dropped to the ground and tried to follow Vicky under.
Because the gap tightened, only a few of them actually attempted it. The rest bashed against the metal.
A couple of diseased made it into the shop. It could have been worse, but that didn’t untie the knots of anxiety in Rhys’ stomach. It would only take one to kill her. The weight of Vicky’s baseball bat sat in Rhys’ grip; he hoped she’d find something in the shop to use against them.
The third diseased that tried to get through had been pinned to the ground by the barrier as it closed. It screamed as it pressed down on its back. The diseased equivalent of a bleating lamb; panic and fury combined in its shrill and repetitive caw. It seemed to disturb the other diseased so much they backed away. It afforded Rhys the clearest view of the thing.
When the shutter pushed into the diseased’s clothes at the base of its spine, it cried louder than before and kicked its legs. The upper half of its body had made it into the shop.
A deep
crack
, and its legs fell limp, but the thing still screamed.
Then it stopped. Vicky must have killed it.
One of the creatures at the front of the pack yelled. The fury spread through the mob again and they rushed forward as one.
A loud crash sounded out as they bashed against the steel shutter again and again.
Chapter Thirty-One
The bright sun stung Rhys’ eyes as he stood by the bridge and watched the shopfront get battered. A pain tore through his chest. There had to be a way to get Vicky out of there, but how?
“If you want to come, now’s the time.”
Rhys turned to see an officer at the end of the bridge. He’d opened a gap in the barricade and motioned for Rhys to come through.
Red-faced as he scanned around wildly, his hand gestures grew more animated. “Are you deaf or something? If you want to get out of this place, now’s the time.”
The crowd of diseased outside the florist had thickened to the point where Rhys couldn’t see the shutter anymore. The mass of crazed and frantic lunatics made it look like hell had opened up into Summit City, and Vicky was at the centre of it.
When Rhys looked back, the officer had halved the distance between them. An older man with white hair, he looked like he’d waited patiently for retirement. A couple of years left in the job and then he could get away and start to live his life. Softness radiated from him that Rhys rarely saw in younger officers. The need to nick people had clearly been well and truly played out for him.
“Come on, lad,” he said. “Come over the bridge with me, and make that girl’s life mean something.”
She didn’t have to lose her life so he could rescue his son; there had to be a way for both of them to come through this.
When the police officer touched Rhys on the shoulder, Rhys jumped away.
“Steady on, son.” The officer spoke as if he was talking to a jittery horse. He tugged on Rhys’ arm. “We’re raising this drawbridge. If you don’t come with us now, we’re going to have to leave you.”
Several officers watched the interaction from the other side of the barricade. Rhys turned back to the florist’s and his heart lifted when he saw Vicky on the roof.
When she waved her arms, he smiled. “She’s alive
.
”
“That’s all well and good,” the cop said, “but those monsters are persistent fuckers, and they ain’t going anywhere until they get to her.”
Then, over the groans and wails, Rhys heard her faint voice. “Go and get Flynn; I’ll be fine.”
Rhys looked at Vicky for a few seconds longer before he turned to the officer. “Can you do one thing for me?”
The officer’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything.
“Do you know St. Michael’s Primary School?”
“Yes,” the officer said.
“Can you go and check that it’s okay? My boy’s there.”
The officer’s entire frame sank. “You’re not coming?”
The florist’s stood in the shadow of two tall buildings—if they could even be called buildings; skeletons seemed like a more appropriate word for their semi-constructed state. While he stared at them, Rhys replied to the officer. “I am coming, just not yet. I can’t leave her; it’s not right. Will you please go to the school for me?”
After a slight pause, the officer said, “Yes.”
Like Vicky had done earlier, Rhys rested both his bat and hers against the bridge. He then patted the older officer’s shoulder. “Thank you; I’ll be ten minutes behind you.”
Rhys then took off down the hill towards the herd of the diseased and the shop with Vicky inside.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Although Rhys followed the same path Vicky had originally taken, to continue along that line of trajectory would have landed him smack bang in the middle of the herd. His plan had more smarts than that.
The vinegary stink of rot hit Rhys sooner than he’d expected. In just a few hours, the diseased smelled like their flesh had curdled. At this rate, they’d be nothing but piles of sludge in a few days. Whatever happened to them over time, Rhys wouldn’t be there to find out—no fucking way; he, Vicky, and Flynn would be long gone.
With about twenty metres between Rhys and the stragglers at the back of the pack, Rhys changed his course and headed for a small building.
One of seven small huts was positioned off to the side. They’d all gone into lockdown like the other buildings in Summit City, but when they didn’t have armour around them, they served a variety of food to the Summit City workers. Now they served as a way for Rhys to hide from the diseased crowd.
A dull ache gripped Rhys’ lower back as he tried to run at a crouch. He stopped when he got to the first hut. Each hut stood about three metres tall; he didn’t need to run like that. Crouched or not, the diseased couldn’t see him. With two hands on the base of his back, he leaned backwards and thrust his pelvis out as he released a muted groan.
After his slight pause, Rhys moved along to the next hut on tiptoes. As he ran, he listened to the collective moans and roars on the other side of the small buildings. If he couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see him. Although… if he couldn’t see them, he also couldn’t see an attack. There could be a welcoming party past hut number seven and he’d know fuck all about it.
A sharp ache ran through his feet and he fell from his tiptoed run, but he carried on.
Suddenly, Rhys heard something else and stopped. Muffled and distant, he heard it nonetheless—a small voice whimpered and cried. A stream of sweat ran down the sides of Rhys’ face as he searched around for the source of the sound.
When he leaned against the steel panel of the closest food hut, he instantly withdrew from the hot metal shutters. It must have been scorching inside… Inside! The thick steel made it almost impossible to hear the person, but the voice came from inside the hut. Rhys moved his face so close, he felt the heat that radiated from the brushed metal.
“Help me, please. Help me.”
He couldn’t do anything. The thick reinforced steel barely let sound through, so any effort Rhys made to help the woman inside would be utterly ineffective. Even if he could help her, the noise he’d have to make would bring the diseased over in droves.
A woman trapped as she cried for help twisted a pang of grief through Rhys’ chest, but he couldn’t help her. Vicky remained the number one priority at that moment. Get Vicky, get Flynn, and then get as far away as possible—nothing else mattered. Rhys stepped away a couple of paces and frowned at the steel pod. A lump rose in his throat. Poor woman. When he looked up at the sun, he squinted and shook his head. She’d probably die in there like a dog left in a hot car.
Three heavy clunks and then a whirring sound took Rhys’ attention away from the food pod. He looked across to see the drawbridge as it slowly lifted. Fear gripped him; no going back now. A look at the two half-built towers flooded him with self-doubt. Rhys took a deep breath and whispered to himself, “One thing at a time.” It did little to calm his furious pulse.
***
It took a few minutes for the bridge to lift. Without a friendly cop on the other side, it had become impassable. Whether Rhys had made the correct choice to go back for Vicky didn’t matter anymore. It now remained his only choice.
The noise of the bridge had pulled some of the diseased back over. They shambled, rather than ran, toward it; curiosity drove them rather than hunger. They seemed to understand the disturbance wouldn’t provide them with something to hunt. It must be an olfactory thing; the drawbridge, although no doubt had a metallic quality to it, didn’t reek of human blood.
The crowd that headed to the bridge consisted of maybe fifteen diseased at most. The ones that banged against the florist’s steel shutter continued to hammer away; they undoubtedly still believed they could get into the shop.
Once Rhys arrived at the end of the line of food pods, he peered at the tall, unfinished buildings that were much closer now. He saw straight through them because neither of them had doors or windows fitted yet. They’d best be as barren inside. In fact, his entire plan relied on it.
The heat of the day and Rhys’ anxiety had turned his mouth dry. He took a deep breath and counted down from three before he poked his head around to look at the diseased.
The second he did, his heart jolted and rattled his nerves.
He was being watched.
Chapter Thirty-Three
If he waved at her, it would attract their attention. Instead, Rhys held eye contact with Vicky, and with a very slow gesture, pointed at the tall buildings just across the way.
For a few seconds, she looked at the half-built towers. When she looked back, she nodded at Rhys, gave him the thumbs up, and disappeared from the roof of the florist’s.
The sound of the diseased as they crashed against the steel grew louder. Something had evidently wound them up.
From where Rhys stood, nothing had changed with the shop. Maybe the diseased farther back had redoubled their efforts to get forward, but even that didn’t explain the extra noise.
Unless… “Vicky,” Rhys whispered. When he strained his ears, he heard it. Some of the bangs came from the other side of the shutter. It pulled the diseased in, and their collective intention bore down harder on the steel barrier that stood between them and Vicky. However, regardless of how hard they pushed, the barrier held.
When their moans and cries grew louder still, Rhys muttered to himself, “Good girl, Vicky.” His opportunity had arrived.
A slight reluctance gripped Rhys’ muscles, and it nearly held him back. Then he shook his head. Not now. Not when Vicky needed him. Rhys took a final breath and sprinted out into the open space.
Once he was out of cover, he glanced across at the rowdy mob. If one of them saw him now… well, it didn’t bear thinking about.
Yet, not a single creature turned to look at him; Vicky had them well and truly occupied.
***
Rhys darted into the unfinished building and pressed his back against an inside wall. Surrounded by bare concrete, it threw back an echo of not only his footsteps, but also his hard breaths.
The place had a long way to go before completion. Most of the large rooms were yet to have their dividing walls erected. Dust from the construction tickled Rhys’ nose, but he managed to hold onto his sneeze.