by Aline Riva
As night fell Marc was settling into a large spare room at Parson's house, he was on his back on a comfortable bed with the window open as warm air scented with the sea came through the window, and his thoughts were with Greg. He had been told he could see him before the surgery, but it was important to try and settle in here and not to worry until there was reason, Parsons had told him Christian would do all he could for him, and that he needed to trust in his ability.
Parsons had a calming way with words and made sense, too – but it didn't stop him feeling worried sick for his best friend. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but it would be a while before sleep would come no matter how exhausted he felt, because his best friend was still on his mind...
On the other side of the village at the foot of the hill, the wooden house that had been the former Appleton residence was glowing cosily with lights on, it was a warm evening so Stacy had opened the bedroom windows to let the air come in as she turned on the lamp and its glow filled the room. She had made sure the house was well lit, that the fresh air was coming in, and that the sheets had been changed before Greg had been brought down from the infirmary. Not that her efforts would have made a difference to him any how, because he was still sleeping deeply. His wounds had been cleaned and dressed and were no longer leaking blood. He had lost the shade of deathly pallor that had taken over after the attack, he had needle marks in his arms but he had finished the course of blood and fluids and Christian had assured her that when he woke up, he would feel much stronger.
She pulled up a chair next to his bed, paused to look around the light room with its floral wallpaper and blue silk drapes that hung at the windows, then her gaze turned to him as she watched him sleeping by the soft lamplight and thought again how handsome he was – she didn't doubt in the world before the undead, he wouldn't have looked at her twice. But maybe now he would, she wanted to reach out and brush a stray lock of hair from his eyes but didn't want him to wake before he was ready. Just then he stirred, gave a sigh and opened his eyes.
“You've been sleeping for hours!”
“Have I?” he asked, blinking away sleep as he realised he felt a lot better now, he knew he was stronger and definitely had no trace of pain.
“Christian's worked a miracle,” he remarked, sitting up and finding he required little effort to do so, “I feel so much better!”
“He gave you blood and fluids and a few shots of other stuff I don't understand because I'm not a nurse. He said you'd be a lot better when you woke up. I've got some pills to give you tomorrow and I have to change your dressings tomorrow afternoon. He's going to come and see you tomorrow night and talk to you about the surgery.”
He said nothing for a moment, looking into her eyes as he thought how this was such bad timing – he had met a woman who he really liked the look of, and she was kind, too – something he appreciated more than he could explain at this time when so much was uncertain – it was just his bad luck that he had just over a day left before he had treatment that carried so much risk that he didn't know if he would survive to even think about having any kind of future beyond it.
“This is a nice place,” he remarked as he looked around the room at the fancy mirrored dresser and the furniture in varnished wood.
“If you don't mind second hand stuff, Mr Appleton's things are still here. He was quite a sharp dresser, he had a lot of nice clothes and they look to be your size.”
He laughed and shook his head.
“I'm not planning my wardrobe until I know I've got a future to plan for, but thanks.”
“This house is yours too if you like it,” she added, “Mr Parsons said to give it to you.”
He blinked.
“He's giving me this house?”
“Yes,” she told him, “Once you're better you can get to know everyone and settle in here. It's a nice place. By the way, I'm going to be looking after your needs until you recover. He said you can have me - if you want me – and I can have you...and I'm rather pleased about that.”
“Well that's generous – wait... what do you mean, have?”
She smiled as her face flushed.
“People here are encouraged to find mates, to love one another in any way they choose. So you could be my one night stand or you could be my... forever. Either is okay. Parsons says love is a cosmic bond. A bit like how us humans are bonded to the natural spring in the middle of the island... we're surrounded by sea but it's there among the rocks below the mountain, a pure spring of clear water. I bathed in it while I was healing. The pain stopped a few days later. I felt different too, lighter, as if all my worries had been washed away. Parsons says that's a sure sign I belong here.”
Greg rested against his pillows, thinking on all she had said.
“This place sounds amazing – although I do think a spring is just a spring, it's water and nothing else.”
She smiled.
“You'll find out one day,” she promised, “Just like I did.”
“I don't believe spring water can save me,” he told her, giving her a doubtful look, “I know the score, it's all been explained. If I had more courage I'd take the third option, but I'm not brave enough to do that. Also I still want to live. I don't know why, not with the state I'm in, but I do want to carry on. I want to see this through and live to see the day come when those corpses are gone and we can claim back civilisation.”
“But we're in civilisation right here,” she reminded him.
“And it's peaceful,” he replied, at last letting go of the thoughts of carnage on the mainland and memories of being bitten whilst in the cold North Sea waters. Here felt like a world away from reality, the peacefulness of the night and the distant sound of tide to shore was soothing. He was warm and comfortable and no longer in pain, even feeling stronger now. It was easy to forget, just for a short while and let real life slide away, mainly for the sake of his own sanity...
“I want to stay awake and talk all night,” he said.
“That's fine,” she replied, “I'm happy to listen.”
He paused, looking down at the covers, beneath them his legs were bandaged and while the pain relief was working well, he still knew this meant nothing in the long term.
“I keep wondering if I deserve a second shot at life. I've done a lot that I regret. Looking back, I wish I'd lead a better life. You don't know me, Stacy. You look at me like I'm some kind of hero survivor, but you're so wrong. I wasn't a nice guy in the old days, I mean, before the corpses took over.”
He met her gaze, waiting for her to see something reflected in his eyes that would spell out that he was far from the good man she imagined, but instead he saw no trace of judgement.
“What matters is now,” she reminded him, “Tonight, then tomorrow – then you have to get through the surgery and focus on recovery. That's a lot to think about. Don't waste energy on the past, that page has been turned.”
He looked to the empty space beside him and then asked her a question, knowing only that he didn't want to sleep alone tonight.
“Would you lay beside me for a while? I just don't want to wake up alone in the morning.”
She got up from the chair and kicked off her shoes then climbed on to the bed, settling beside him as she shifted closer, turning on her side to meet his gaze, all the while being careful not to touch his bandaged legs.
“What now?” she said softly.
Greg was sure if he had not been through such an ordeal that day he would have answered her with a kiss, but instead he blinked tired eyes.
“Now we should sleep,” he told her, “That's all I want - a good nights sleep.”
She reached over and turned off the light, then as they lay together in the darkness he put his arm around her. She gave a sigh, resting her head on his shoulder, then Greg closed his eyes, welcoming more rest now he was warm in a comfortable bed and Stacy was beside him.
The tide was washing lazily up and down to greet the sandy beach as the moonlight shone brightly in
clear skies. The stars were shining too, they and the moon the only witness to the body that floated into shallow water, carried on the tide that washed it to shore. The corpse staggered to its feet, cast its white eyes about the empty, darkened beach and then sniffed the air, at once becoming alert to the smell of warm blood - so much warm blood - and close by, too...
The creature that had fallen from the rig out at sea was still dripping oil as it began to walk slowly up the beach, heading for the dense woodland as it heard the roll of tide far behind it and recalled the fair haired woman who had fought back. There was something of a trace on the wind, mingled in with the blood scent, it was her scent, the creature was sure of it...
But as bells rung and a human leapt out of the woods with a gun, the corpse lunged, biting down and tearing at the warm throat of its victim as the man dropped his weapon and then fell to the ground in the shade of the trees. The body rolled into a ditch and the corpse lumbered down after it, squatting beside the body and digging dead hands into warm flesh then ripping. The air filled with the stink of blood and guts as organs slithered out and the corpse grasped the shiny meat and bit down, tearing at it, gorging on it, digging oily hands into the body and scoping out more and cramming wet meat into its mouth as it ate loudly, slurping and chomping and giving a growl of satisfaction to have such a feast. It snapped off some ribs and pulled out the heart, squeezed and watched the blood run warm through its fingers, then the oil covered corpse bit down, taking out a chunk and chewing fast and greedily. It took another mouthful then dropped the remains of the heart and stepped up the ditch, slipped, and brought down shrubbery, landing on the ripped open victim as more bones snapped. It grunted, picked itself up from the ground, then stepped on the bushes and broken tree bough, using it as a stepping stone to reach firmer ground, at the same pushing the branches and leaves hard over the torn apart victim.
Then it staggered from the ditch, its mouth bloody from its feed and still glistening as the remaining oil looked dark and shone eerie by moonlight. Then the corpse sniffed the air and began to make its way through the woods, following the scent of more live prey.
While the island had been invaded by one of the undead, the villagers slept, unaware of the threat now hidden in the woodland. While the undead lurked, another threat was closer still – Zackary had opened up the window in the house where he had been invited to stay the night and climbed out, then he stuck to the shadows beneath tree boughs as he avoided the main path, making his way towards the other end of the village. He had heard the wounded man was called Greg. That was all he needed to know to be sure he was here on the island. He had wondered where the stash was, then guessed leaving it on the boat would have been too risky – the drugs had to be with him, or maybe he had handed them over to Parsons in exchange for a life here with the others...
He had tried to figure out the man who ran this island, he seemed like a decent guy but he was also aware he carried a meat cleaver and he had seen a look in his eyes as he had talked about keeping this island secure that said he was not afraid to use it. Zackary planned to visit Greg first, to make him talk and then to take the stash back, if it was with Parsons this would be tough, but making Greg tell him everything would be easy, a few blows to his wounded legs ought to make him sing like a bird...
He walked on slowly and quietly, watching out for movement and keeping to the shadows, taking a carefully planned route to the house at the bottom of the hill – this attack was something he had planned all day as he had waited and watched for the right time to make his move...
A flicker of pain deep in the worst of his wounds sent Greg from a dreamless sleep to the chill of the North Sea and the underwater bites as he was dragged below the surface, flesh torn as pain ripped though his body. He gave a gasp and sat up, staring into the darkness as a vague pain throbbed again beneath heavy bandages.
“Greg?”
Hearing her soft voice brought him back from the nightmare, it was instant as she turned on the lamp and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. By the soft glow of the light as her dark hair tumbled to her shoulders and framed her face, Stacy had never looked as beautiful as she did at this moment and he was so grateful that she was here to save him from the terror that stalked his sleep.
“Bad dream, I'm okay now.”
He laid back down and she did the same, but she kept the light on as she joined him, turning on her side as she studied his face, then she ran her hand over his hair, pushing out of his eyes.
“You look shaken up.”
“I was dreaming about the attack. Reliving it...”
“But you're okay now?”
He reached for her, pulling her closer as his look of fear melted away.
“I'm okay. There's no need to worry about me, but thanks for asking.”
“That's what I'm here for,” she replied and she smiled warmly and he smiled back and suddenly neither wanted to break from this moment.
Their gaze had locked, no more words were needed as he drew her even closer and she slid her arms around him. Their lips touched and then he closed his eyes, kissing her deeply as she ran her hands gently over his shoulders, then slid her fingers though his hair. The pain was forgotten as arousal and impatience took over, he tugged at her dress and flung back the covers, he was naked beneath the sheets and already hard, seeing the way she quickly stripped off her underwear and pushed her dress to her hips was enough to make him feel like he was about to burst.
“Careful!” he said breathlessly, “My legs...”
“I'll be gentle.”
She sat astride him, lowering down slowly as their bodies joined, her movements were slow and careful, she was desperate to move harder but knew if she slammed against him the shock would travel down to his wounded legs so she took care, keeping it gentle, watching as his face flushed, then she gave a moan of pleasure and as she moved harder, unable to keep the control. At that moment he lost control too, gasping as pleasure throbbed and took over his body. For a moment he forgot about pain, about the possibility of dying. In that moment nothing mattered, then the pleasure faded out and she was still breathless as she separated from him and lay beside him, her hand on his chest as his heart raced and he slowly regained his breath.
“Oh Stacy, that was good...so good...” he closed his eyes, breaking into a light sweat from the exertion.
“It was good for me too,” Stacy said softly, then she kissed his cheek and turned out the light and they lay together in the dark, both warm from their brief lovemaking as they embraced.
The lights were all out when Zackary reached the house at the foot of the hill. He stood there for a moment, looked up at the open windows and then went around the side entrance, following a narrow pathway that led around to the back. The kitchen door was unlocked and he turned the handle and gave the door a cautious push. It swung silently on well oiled hinges and he stepped inside. Moonlight spilled in though the window lighting a silver path as he went through the kitchen and out into the downstairs hallway, then he reached the stairway and looked up, hearing no sound. It was just after three in the morning and he figured Greg would be sleeping deeply – he would certainly be no threat in his condition....
As he went up the stairs, a floor board creaked loudly. He paused, listening, but heard nothing, then carefully took the next stair, taking his time.
Up in the bedroom, as Greg was about to slide back into a deep sleep, Stacy heard the loud creak on the stairs and sat up sharply.
“What's wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing, I hope... I think I heard someone... I probably didn't but I have to be sure...”
She got out of bed and pulled down her dress, then reached over to the bedside table and picked up a handgun. As the moonlight caught on the weapon, Greg sat up too, blinking away tiredness.
“I didn't know you were armed!”
“I was working patrol before you arrived... I'm also assigned the role of a protector in emergencies. Protectors have to carry a loaded weapon
at all times. Don't worry, I'll handle this -”
There was an audible footfall on the landing and she exchanged a glance with Greg.
“That was definitely a footstep,” she whispered as she checked her weapon and moved away from the bed, taking slow and careful steps towards the door. It was ajar and she saw no movement beyond it, as if who ever lurked was waiting to make a move. Then the door was suddenly kicked open and a fist slammed into her face, sending her sprawling to the floor.
“It's about time I caught up with you,” said Zackary.
He stood there framed by moonlight, gun in hand as he glared at Greg, who was staring back at him in utter shock, unarmed and unable to move from the bed as pain vaguely flickered in both his legs. Zackary stormed over, grabbing him by the throat as he slammed a fist into his left leg. Greg's head swam with pain as the medication did little to mask the agony of the blow and he cried out, then struggled to breathe as Zackary's grip tightened and he waved a gun in his face.
“Where's the fucking goods? Tell me or I'll make you wish you those corpses had ripped you apart in the sea!”
There was a boom and Zackary's head snapped forward, his grip slipped from Greg's throat as blood spattered the wall and he fell, a dead weight with bone and brains leaking on to the covers as Greg sat there, his face streaked with his enemies blood. The light came on and he looked on in shock to see Stacy lowering a smoking gun.
“What ever this is about,” she said as she set the gun aside and tugged at the corpse, making it fall heavily to the floor, “You'd better explain to me, so I can explain to Mr Parsons.”