by Aline Riva
“And what about Greg?” she asked.
“Tell Christian once he's stable, to move him to the wooden house at the bottom of the hill. He can rest there until his surgery and recover there afterwards. It also puts him at a distance from his friends – that may be a good thing – seeing him in great discomfort may distract them from settling in. They just need to know he's in good hands.”
“But that was Mr Appleton's house,” said Stacy, silently recalling how he had been found hanging from a ceiling beam in his living room days after all contact with the outside world had ended, on the day the emergency broadcasts had stopped running.
“And he is now at one with the earth,” Antonio reminded her, “His home and possessions are available to another. As for the others, we have some spare accommodation and they are welcome to it, I shall meet the two women tomorrow. But today I need to meet with Marc. Please, go and fetch him now.”
Stacy got up, smiling brightly.
“Thank you so much!” she said, warmed in her heart to know she could play a useful role in helping the wounded man.
“No need to thank me,” he replied, “Just fetch Marc for me.”
“Yes, Mr Parsons,” she said, then she got up and left the room, as she pushed the curtain aside the scent of lemongrass incense filled the air and she caught the eye of Serena who was watering the plants,and smiled at her too, then she left the house, walking away from the porch and down the hill still feeling light in her heart as the sun shone and the many wind chimes made their delicate sounds.
Being able to offer herself in service to the wounded man had certainly made her happier - she had desperately wanted to be able to help and Parsons had granted that wish. She was also relieved he was not angry, because when he was not their gentle and wise leader, he was their angry and sometimes violent peacekeeper, who constantly kept a meat cleaver on his belt in a leather pouch...
She had seen him use the cleaver, just the once, on a man who had attacked another and the fight had turned nasty and led to a stabbing. Parsons had cut off his hand and then thrown him into the concrete pit far off at the back of his own property – in the pit were two undead that had been washed in from the coast, and they had torn the assailant apart. There would be no violence here, Parsons had said. She knew he was basically a good man – always good to her and the others, always kind. But he dealt with threats harshly now the dead had taken over, he said the rules had to change because of how the world had changed. She supposed he was right, but she didn't give it too much thought, instead just feeling glad she would never be on the receiving end of that sharp cleaver...
She was still smiling as she headed over to the infirmary. To Stacy, life was looking optimistic now as she thought of the newcomers - they would be okay here, they just needed to settle in and get used to the rules and things would be just fine, she felt sure of it...
Stacy had returned to the infirmary and then taken Greg to Parson's house, she had left him there and returned for the two women, and led them down the path and over to the other side of the village, where she handed them the keys to a cosy round dwelling with a thatched roof that sat next to a farmhouse. She told them to get comfortable and said Sherry from the farm would stop by later, then she had left them to get settled in.
While this was happening, Greg's wounds had been cleaned and dressed and he had been given a shot of pain relief. He was off the table now and on a bed in the room next door with a line in his arm to give fluids and a second to give a much needed blood transfusion. As he opened his eyes and saw the white walls and the white sheet that covered him to his hips, he turned his head and looked to the window as he rested against soft pillows and watched the lowering of the sun as the day shifted towards sunset.
Just then the door opened. Two people entered the room, but he didn't know either of them. The young man in the white coat who wore round rimmed glasses looked like a doctor, and his legs felt fine now and all he wanted to do was thank him.
“I feel so much better!” Greg exclaimed, “I'm so relieved! I've got no pain. I can even move a little bit... I think I''ll be out of here in no time, thank you so much!”
“I haven't treated the bites yet,” he replied as he glanced at his notes and then set them aside, “I'm Doctor Christian Wells and I'm the only doctor on this island. Fortunately I've treated corpse bites before so it's not my first time.”
Greg's expression changed to one of uncertainty.
“It's okay,” said the woman beside him, then she sat on the edge of the bed and smiled warmly.
“I'm Stacy. I found your friends and brought them back to the village. They're settling in for the night and everyone is okay. You don't have to worry.”
“Stacy has offered to be your helper,” Christian added, “Marc will be taking over her job of security patrol, he's up at the main house with Mr Parsons right now.”
“Who?”
“The man who runs this community,” Christian told him, “Nice guy, you'll get along well with him. I'm sure he will come and visit you soon.”
Greg glanced from Christian to Stacy, who looked at him kindly, then as she sensed his nervousness, she placed her hand over his and gave it a squeeze.
“The people who were with you when you arrived,” she said, “Are they relatives?”
“No, I barely know the two girls. Emma used to pilot my private helicopter. Marc is a lifelong friend. He used to work as my bodyguard - I was a very powerful businessman before the world went to shit.”
Stacy looked impressed.
“You'll have to tell me about it sometime!”
So many memories flooded Greg's mind, and none of them were good as he thought about his shady past.
“Maybe one day...” he said, feeling certain he would make sure that subject would never arise again.
Then Christian spoke once more.
“I need to explain about your treatment,” he said.
“Yes, let's get that over with. I want to know all about this place – where am I?”
“Wolfsheer Island,” Stacy told him, as Christian shot her a look of impatience that she missed, now keen to tell Greg all about his new home as she temporarily forgot the gravity of the situation, “It's an off grid community, established seven years ago. It's really nice here, and best of all, we've had very little trouble with the undead.”
“Stacy, I need to explain to Greg?”
Her smile faded and she nodded, saying a quick sorry, then falling silent.
“The bites will start to show the infection the day after tomorrow,” Christian explained, “The edges will turn black and that's the best time to remove the tissue.”
“Fine,” Greg replied, “I just want this over with so I can heal and get on with settling down here. This place really does sound great.”
Again the brief look of optimism on his face was wiped away by the serious expression reflected in Christian's eyes.
“It's not a case of simply removing the affected tissue,” he said, “I'll have to cut a wide margin around it and go just as deep into it to be sure the infection is gone. Two of the bites can easily be treated but the other three are very deep and you're looking at the prospect of heavy tissue loss and some muscle loss in both legs. That's if I can remove that much tissue and still close you up again. You will feel fine on the pain relief up to the day of surgery but the virus is increasing your risk of death during surgery simply by being present in your body. You're at risk of seizures leading to brain haemorrhage until that tissue is gone. If I can remove the bites I can give you antibiotics that should counteract any risk, I can keep your blood pressure stable too and a few days on meds should put you on the road to recovery. But your bites are severe.”
Cold fear was washed over him and his hand trembled in Stacy's grip.
“But you've done this before?”
“I've treated a few bite cases. In my experience the smaller the bite, the easier it is to treat. I've lost a few patients with severe wound
s. But some have recovered. So far I've treated nine people and four survived. Two had severe wounds. I can't make promises.”
Greg broke into a cold sweat.
“This is the only choice I have?”
Stacy had only just met him, but seeing such desperation in his eyes broke her heart. Greg seemed like such a nice guy, and he was facing so much pain.
“You have three choices,” Christian added, “I can cut out the bites and hope that you make it. Or I can amputate both legs below the knee giving you a much better chance of recovery, because I could do that tomorrow morning if you chose that option.” Then he said no more, looking at him intently through his rounded glasses, not wanting to mention the third alternative. But Greg shook his head.
“No way, I'm not losing my legs! What's the third option?”
Christian paused to gather his thoughts. He had offered this choice to every victim of severe virus infection and so far, none had taken it...
“The third option is to do nothing and wait the full time you have left, then when the virus shows sign of taking hold I can give you an overdose of pain relief. It would be an instant and painless end. Euthanasia is your third choice. I'm sorry, there's nothing else I can offer.”
Greg let go of Stacy's hand, leaning back against the pillow as he breathed heavily, fighting off a wave of panic.
“I don't want to die!”
“And that's your choice,” Christian assured him.
Greg met his gaze as determination to fight began to push aside panic.
“I want the bites cut out. I'll take that chance, I just want to live and try and stay in one piece.”
Christian nodded.
“Of course. I'll carry out the surgery in forty eight hours. Until then you have accommodation in the village and Stacy will be taking care of you. Now I need to explain to Stacy about your medication and how to change the dressings. We won't be long.”
Then he left the room with Stacy, leaving Greg alone and terrified. He thought of Marc and felt sure he had never needed his best friend more than he did at this moment.
By now Marc had been introduced to Parsons, who had greeted him warmly, asked about his work in security and then Parsons had explained his need for help with island patrol.
“There is also room for you here, as my personal guard,” he had added, “Your gift of assistance will be rewarded.”
“I'm happy to help,” Marc replied, then Parsons had got up from his seat and Marc had stood up too and the two men left the house and took the path towards the field behind it as Parsons talked of the link between man and the earth and the mystical waters of the natural spring nearby.
The sun was sinking casting a warm glow over the fields and as they headed out towards a large pit that was lined with concrete, somewhere deep within came a sound he had not heard since the rig had been over run, and suddenly Marc's guts twisted as he realised there was more to this island paradise than it first seemed...
“Since the undead rose up,” said Parsons as they headed for the pit, “I've had to maintain order with an iron fist. Those who harm our own must be punished severely as a deterrent to others. I do this for my community. The murderers, the criminals... believe me, this place sheltered a few over the years and it took the corpse invasion to bring out their true colours... Not everyone who lives away from society has a decent reason for doing so,” He indicated to the meat cleaver at his side, “I would use this as sure as you would use your gun to fight off hostile forces, living or dead. The last man to go into the pit had stabbed another and almost taken his life. He was executed.”
Marc stopped walking, hearing the sounds of snarls and rasping from below ground as he turned away, looking to Parsons as the two men stood together in the field, framed by wheat in the field next door as the sun lowered making it look rose gold.
“Oh shit, you throw them to the corpses? You have a freaking corpse pit? Tell me something good about this place, Antonio – is there anything good?”
“We are a close community and violence is rare. We also practise free love.”
Parsons had raised a smile but Marc just shook his head.
“Free love? Since when did love not come with a price. I'll pass on that one.”
“I want you to see the pit,” Parsons added, stepping closer.
Marc steadied his nerves with a slow breath, then took three steps closer and looked down. Two rotting faces looked up, glaring and snarling with teeth bared at they stood far below where flies buzzed and lumps of flesh and bones were scattered at the bottom of the deep hole.
“I've seen enough.”
He turned away, walked back towards the path, and Parsons hurried to catch up with him.
“You may not agree with the method, but without a deterrent, what would we have here? Chaos? Innocent people slaughtered? Society can crumble quickly and that's not what this place was ever about, it was my dream to build a community of enlightenment and peace! That can still be achieved, even now the old world is over, it's just different now!”
Marc stopped walking. He looked at him intently. Despite all he had just heard, he was not looking into the eyes of a madman, he was sure of it – Parsons really did have good intent behind everything he did.
“I'll work for you,” he agreed, “But I want nothing to do with this pit.”
“Understandable, my friend,” said Parsons, then the two men shook hands as the sun lowered, sealing the deal, then they turned towards the house and walked back together as Marc's thoughts shifted between being thankful for this place of safety, to silently worrying for Greg, as his thoughts then settled on concern for his best friend:
He couldn't contemplate losing him, not after they had lost so much. He was literally hanging on, embracing this new life to share it with Greg, because that man felt like the only family he had left in a crazy world that didn't make sense any more...
Chapter 9
The small but cosy single storey, round building that overlooked the fields was in the middle of a plot with several other buildings, they were all round and clustered together, but this one was the last and beside it was a fence and behind that fence was the farm. Sherry Findlay was a warm and friendly woman in her early fifties with fair hair tied back in a ponytail. She had stopped by, given the newcomers some tea and milk and bread and a few other essentials, then she had helped unpack the food in the small kitchen as she told them not everyone liked strangers wandering on to the island, but with the world in the state it was, she personally thought it was a good thing, to take in new people – after all, they had enough room here. There had been a few empty places here back in the days before the undead, she had explained, this island was a great place to live but property had been expensive because it was exclusive.
She stayed long enough to open up cupboards and take out plates and cups and turn on the fridge freezer and show Emma how to work the heating and hot water. Then she told them to relax and settle in, and to come and see her in a couple of days time, so she could show them around.
After she left, Emma closed the front door and turned back towards the window seat where Vicki was sat looking out across a wheat field as the last glow of sunset gave way to dusk. She was staring, not really taking in the view, just sitting there in the small front room made of wood, with its colourful cushions and rugs as her thoughts remained far away. Emma looked about the room, there was no fireplace but it did have radiators. A door led off to a small hallway – down there were two bedrooms and a bathroom, the other door led to the kitchen. This place was basic but cosy and she didn't doubt all the houses were warm in winter, given the obvious cost that had gone into building the housing on this island.
“It's nice here.”
Vicki gave no answer, sitting on the seat, leaning back against a cushion as she clutched another tightly, her thoughts back on the rig, or maybe back on land and the horrors she had seen. Emma saw the haunted look in her eyes reflected in the glass as she walked over to her.
>
“Vicki?”
She turned her head. Emma sat down on the end of the seating, looking at the young woman who still seemed in shock.
“I'm sorry about Amy.”
“I keep seeing it,” Vicki replied as her sights stayed set on the field beyond the window, “I hear her scream, I see the blood in the water... I see those things ripping into her...And Greg...the moment they attacked him... I thought he was going to die. I'm still worried that he might. He's in a bad way. He saved my life, Emma. I want to save him but I feel so useless!”
“You're not useless! You helped to bring him to this island. You carried him to the infirmary. He's getting help, he's in good hands! You can't do any more, you're not a doctor. We just have to trust that we've done all we can.”
“But I keep thinking -”
“Then don't!” Emma said firmly, “Don't think, just get through each day. I'm sure that's how every other person who is making it through this nightmare copes. If you think about everything you've seen, it will finish you! Just don't think, okay?”
The strength she saw reflected in Emma's gaze leant her much needed confidence. She nodded.
“I'll try to keep busy.”
“Good idea,” Emma replied, “Now, I'm off for a shower. Maybe you could make some tea while I'm gone?”
“Okay,” Vicki said, and she got up and headed off to the kitchen. Emma watched her walk away, silently wondering if Vicki really would manage to get through this. She had seen so much horror and had lost her entire family. It seemed Greg was the only person she now felt a bond with. As much as Emma couldn't bear to think of him dying, it worried her just as much to think of the effect it would have on Vicki if the worst happened - she seemed dangerously close to falling apart...