by Riva, Aline
As sea sped by and he watched the horizon, his thoughts were set on the mainland, on catching up with Greg and taking back what he was owed – hatred and bitterness grew inside him. For miles across the sea all he could think of was revenge. Next time he saw Fitzroy, he would be a dead man. This time, he would do the job himself...
The sun was high in the summer skies and gulls dipped and weaved over the sea as it reflected sky and sun sparkle. The fishing boat had suddenly come up against what had looked at a distance to be a large monster rising sickeningly high in the middle of the water, but as they neared it, all became clear – it was a ferry washed out to sea, on its side and drifting. Marc had struggled to take the boat around the large vessel at a distance, then when he had gone on for a few more miles, realised they were off course for the mainland, and turned the boat again.
“Where the hell are we going?” Emma asked as she stood beside him in the cabin, feeling a flicker of panic as it suddenly registered that Greg had five days before the virus claimed him and here they were, lost at sea...There was not a glimpse of land in sight, perhaps there never would be, maybe they would run out of fuel and drift... All of this reflected in her eyes as she looked at Marc in desperation.
“I'm not a sailor!” he said, “I've had a bit of time steering boats when I was younger, when my grandfather used to take me out fishing. I'm doing my best, but I know very little about the sea and I want to get back on land as much as you do!”
As the boat cut through the water, a moment of silence passed between them. Then Emma's thoughts turned to the burning rig that was now out of sight but not far from her thoughts.
“Hayley gave her life for us.”
He recalled the look he had seen in her eyes as she held off the horde.
“She invited us aboard. I think maybe she was determined to make sure we stood a chance when it all went wrong. If I could have saved her, I would have done it.”
“We all would have,”Emma agreed, “And by the way, you did everything you could for Amy.”
He had been watching the sun on the water, but turned his head and met her gaze with a haunted look in his dark eyes.
“Did I?” he replied, still not done with running over the events in his mind, “I keep thinking I should have made her get on the boat first.”
“She had a bullet in her leg! She couldn't have climbed without someone pulling her up from the other side! Oh Jesus, Marc, don't do this to yourself!”
He gave a heavy sigh.
“I know you're right, but it doesn't stop me thinking about it,” he replied, then he looked back at the water, watching the far distance, hoping to sight land – and soon.
On the exposed deck, Greg was on his back, his eyes were closed and he had showed no sign of waking since the attack. Vicki was kneeling at his side, she had cut away the bloody fabric from his lower limbs and done her best to tape gauze over the bite wounds, then she had bandaged them, but blood was seeping through already. She had opened his shirt and watched the rise and fall of his chest, to see that was all she needed to be sure he was still alive. She kept reminding herself that the virus would not kill him yet, it would not spread for five days. There was time to get help. If they didn't find help, the only other option was one she didn't want to think about: Cutting out the infected flesh. The bites were deep and in places skin had been ripped away, both his legs below the knee looked like he had been the victim of a shark attack. She didn't know how much flesh would have to be cut out, but Greg was a slender guy and those wounds went deep. One even exposed punctured calf muscle...
“Just hold on,” she said to him as the boat sailed on through the water, “We'll find land, we'll find help...I won't let you die. You saved me and I'm going to save you...”
Then she fell silent, watching his chest rise and fall as the blood that soaked through the bandages looked bright and ugly against the white of the thick dressings. She opened up the hold all and looked through the stuff that Hayley had packed – there were bottles of pills and preloaded syringes too but she didn't know a thing about medication and Greg's condition was bad enough without her administering the wrong drug...
“Emma,” she called, and she left the cabin and joined her.
“Can you help with this? Hayley put so much stuff in this bag and I think he needs something for the pain but I don't know what to give him...”
In that moment the shock of the deaths she had witnessed and the attack from the undead and then the gunmen wore off. In all the time she had been on the boat, the image of the rig burning had stayed in her mind, so had the memory of Amy screaming as the undead tore her apart in the water. Emma had swum for the boat, sights fixed on the goal, thinking of nothing but getting there and surviving. Since they had left, all she had done was stay at Marc's side, thoughts now switched on finding land and help for Greg. Now she was looking down at her former employer and she saw the wounds bleeding through the bandages and wondered if he would survive.
“You did a good job of dressing the bites, Vicki,” she said, kneeling beside her, “I feel so stupid! I have first aid training. It just went out of my mind, around the time I saw the rig blow and take Hayley with it. Let's have a look in that bag...”
Vicki handed her the bag and she began to look through the contents, then she tore off a perforated strip from a pack of preloaded syringes.
“Perfect,” she said, breaking the seal and taking out the syringe.
“What is it?” Vicki asked.
“Low dose of morphine,” she replied as she held up the needle and watched a trickle of fluid run from its hollow tip, “Clean his arm for me... “
“With what?'” Vicki asked.
“There's alcohol swabs in there,” she said, reaching into the holdall and passing her a sealed packet.
Vicki opened up the packet and then wiped his arm, then she sat back, watching as Emma carefully pushed in the needle and injected the contents. As she pulled it out again, Vicki watched Greg for signs of waking, but even the injection had done nothing to stir him. His breathing remained steady, but his eyes were still closed.
“At least he won't be in pain when he wakes,” Emma said as she dressed the injection site and then cleared away the used equipment, tying it in a disposal bag and casting aside, then closing the holdall.
Just then Greg drew in a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes.
“Greg?” Vicki said, and as he looked up to see blue sky above and Vicki at his side with her fair hair reflecting golden sun, he managed the ghost of a smile.
“Are you in pain?” she asked.
He noticed Emma was there too and they both looked worried. He smelled the salt in the air and heard the boat engine. In his mind's eye he was in the water and being dragged under, the teeth of the undead were tearing at his legs... he had been bitten, many times... He gave a sharp gasp and as it came back to him, tears filling his eyes. He wasn't in pain, he felt as if his legs ought to be on fire with it but somehow, he was above that level where he could feel agony.
“I'm going to die...” he said weakly as a tear ran from the corner of his eye and he felt its trail run into his hair as he lay there on the deck, on his back, too weak to try and move.
“No,” Emma told him firmly, “We won't let that happen! The virus takes five days to… progress...” she hesitated, hoping she had chosen her words carefully enough, “We're heading for the shore, someone will help us. You can get the wounds treated. You won't die!”
“I won't let you die,” promised Vicki, and then she took hold of his hand.
Greg closed his eyes, trying to block out the sun and the sky and everything around him as the boat moved through the waves and he welcomed the pull of sleep, to take him away from this living nightmare.
Zackary had run into trouble as he caught sight of the distant mainland and the boat's engine had begun to stutter. An island was looming into sight, it was a large land mass with heavy trees shielding the view of what lie beyond the beach, b
ut he saw hills and more tall treetops and a rugged mountainous side of hard rock that looked east. He noticed a small wooden dock and used the last of the fuel to near it, then the boat coasted with the tide, allowing him to step off on to dry land, then he turned back and gave the boat a shove and the pull of the tide did the rest. It floated away, heading along the stretch of dock and back towards the open sea.
Then he noticed a path and headed for it, being sure to fix his clothing so his shirt hung loose over his shorts, hiding the gun in his back pocket. As he headed up the pathway, he felt a snag, stepped back and realised he had walked into transparent plastic thread. Somewhere bells were chiming, so he lifted the thread, ducked under and carried on walking.
The pathway led through dense trees and shrubs, beyond it in the distance he saw tall grass swaying on the breeze – and past that was the strangest sight he had ever seen: There were houses here, all kinds, some made of wood, others of brick and metal, all different shapes and sizes from traditional cabin style homes resembling luxury sheds to a wider complex far off with solar panels on the roof and wide windows set into a modern design of concrete and glass. As he walked closer and made his way to the end of the heavy shaded pathway, he saw plots of land where vegetation grew and beyond it, fields of more produce...
This was some kind of eco village? He started to smile as he realised he had just struck gold. What better place to go now the mainland was over run by the undead, than an isolated isle where what looked to be a luxury off grid community had been established? There was a large signpost pointing to the village, it was set at the edge of the trees where the path opened up bright and cut through the tall grass and led to the settlement, the sign pointed towards the buildings and bore one word: Wolfsheer.
Just then a figure dressed in black moved quickly from the shadows, stepping out and blocking his way, armed with a rifle. He blinked, taken by surprise at the sight of the armed man, who was heavy built and greying and had a look of coldness in his eyes.
“Identify yourself.”
“I'm Zack,” he said, holding up his hands as he saw the rifle trained on him, “My boat was sinking and I saw your island...I don't mean to offend by showing up here... I'm sure you all know what it's like on the mainland.”
The man nodded, but still looked at him with suspicion.
“Are you armed?”
“No,” he lied, looking the man in the eye, “Search me if you wish....I don't want trouble, just shelter!”
“I'll take you to meet Mr Parsons,” he replied, failing to spot the lie, “He runs the village. This way.” Then he gestured with his gun and Zack thanked him with a polite nod and allowed the man to lead him onward, aware the rifle was at his back as he walked on, keen to keep up his act of innocence.
On board the fishing boat, the jolt of the vessel as it moved through the water woke Greg and although pain still felt present yet far from his ability to truly feel it, he was afraid as he recalled it again, for the second time the memory hit him and he felt the impact of the shock: The cold depths of the North Sea, being dragged under the current, the pain of the undead biting at his flesh... Greg gave a gasp and blinked, his upper body jolted as he was hit with the view of the boat, the deck, his own blood and the bandages covering his wounded legs. He knew he had sat up too fast as he gasped for air, still trying to shake off the feeling of shock at the sound of the sea, bringing with it the memory of the water and the corpses beneath the surface as they attacked.
“It's okay... you're safe.”
“How bad is it... the bites... how bad? Am I infected?”
As he spoke he was leaning against Emma who was now behind him lending support as he looked in panic to Vicki, who was still kneeling by his side.
“How bad is it?” he asked again as his voice trembled.
For a moment she said nothing as the sea breeze and the sound of the boat engine cutting through waves filled the air. Then she gathered her thoughts, took hold of his hand and spoke gently to him.
“Both your lower legs have bites... deep ones. You've got five days to find help, to get it treated... we will get back to shore soon. Marc's doing all he can to get us there.”
Greg looked down at the blood soaked dressings and a look of utter panic filled his eyes as he gave a weak sob.
“I don't want to die and turn into one of those things!”
“You won't,” Vicki said, “You can get it treated. You'll recover.”
“If we find help in time. If they can save my legs...” he paused, thinking back to what had happened before the attack, “Hayley's dead...and your sister...”
Vicki nodded.
“I'm sorry,” he replied as he started to calm down, aware that he felt no pain and guessed he had definitely been given a shot of something that was holding the agony back, “I feel...sort of okay now...I think!”
“You've had pain relief,” Emma told him, “I'm hoping I won't have to give you more because it could get in the way of you having those bites treated promptly – I don't know much about meds or surgery, only first aid.”
“Do you think the bites can be cut out?” he asked.
“I don't know how it's done,”Emma replied, “I have no idea how much tissue has to go.”
“Quite a bit, I would imagine,” he replied, “But as long as it can be treated, I'll be okay. I have to focus on that. I'm going to try and think about getting through this...”
Then he fell silent, but kept a tight grip on Vicki's hand. The sound of the engine cutting through waves and her voice spoken softly as she assured him again that he would be fine, was like a magic potion as it drew him back into a deep sleep, and as he slumped back against Emma she gently laid him flat on the deck of the boat once more.
In the cabin, the constant view of the sea meeting sky was suddenly altered as Greg saw a land mass in the distance, it was growing clearer with every passing moment – far beyond it, he saw the distant shadow of the shoreline, but the mainland wasn't his aim any more...
“There's an island!” he called back to the others, and Emma got up and hurried to join him as Vicki stayed with Greg.
Real hope shone in Marc's eyes as he headed for the isle sat in the middle of the water, from this angle he saw rooftops on hillsides and the reflection of glass as windows caught the afternoon sun.
“It's a chance!” he said, “I see houses, buildings... life! We can stop off, if it's abandoned, we might find supplies and we can still get back to the mainland before dark. We've got nothing to lose.”
“And if we meet hostility?” she asked.
“We have a machine gun,” he replied, “And if the worst happens, I will use it. But I don't want to think it will end like that. We have to try. This could be the answer to our prayers.” As he took the boat towards the island, Emma said no more, watching as it loomed closer and she hoped he was right...
They weighed anchor at the small dock, then Marc turned off the engine and picked up the weapon and left the boat, turning back as he stood on the dock and casting a glance at his best friend, who was still sleeping, then he turned to the two women.
“I want you both to wait here. I'm going to take a look around, if I can fetch help, I will – if the place is empty, I'll come back and let you know. If you hear gunfire, get down on the deck and stay there – and trust that I'll return. I'm not expecting trouble but after all that's happened on the mainland, we don't know how anyone will react to strangers.”
“Good luck,” Vicki said as she sat down beside Greg and cast an anxious glance at him.
“Don't worry,” Marc added, then he turned away and began to walk towards the path that led to the dense woodland.
As he entered the shaded path, Marc glanced left and right and saw no one. He listened, heard nothing but the sound of sea breeze shifting leaves and birds singing in the treetops. Then he walked on, paused and noticed a fine, transparent wire that ran at shoulder height across the path, as the sun escaped through gaps in the boughs the ra
ys had hit it, lighting it up like a strand of thick cobweb. He looked up and around, then gave it a gentle tug and heard the chiming of bells. The ringing seemed to echo about the woods, and he stood there, waiting as he wondered if this alarm system had been in place before or after the undead had invaded, either way it was a neat alarm system to warn of intruders. Seeing no one, he went on his way, heading towards the light at the end of the shaded area, where beyond, tall grass swayed in the breeze and past that he saw a small village that was a mix of many types of housing and buildings – it had to be an off grid place, one look told him that by the unique structures and the acres of produce that grew in nearby fields. It was clearly one of those posh off grid places, a paradise for wealthy hippy types who wanted to live off the land and preserve the environment whilst doing it in style and comfort. It looked well established too – it had certainly been standing for a few years and if the undead had not invaded, this place would be the equivalent of finding paradise...
He reached the signpost that pointed towards the village, read the word Wolfsheer, and then stepped out into the sunlight, welcoming back the warmth after the chilly gloom of the forest.
“Don't move,”said a female voice.
He froze.
“Can I at least put my gun down?” he asked.
“Lay it to the side of the path and step forward!” she ordered.
He obeyed, taking a step away from the weapon and closer to the view of the village as he slowly raised his hands.
“Turn around,” she said.
He turned slowly, looking in surprise at a woman with long dark hair that fell to her shoulders. Her skin was sun kissed and her eyes were deep blue. She looked to be in her late twenties and her grip on the rifle was firm and confident as she stood there in a white summer dress that fell just above her knees. She was shapely and pretty, the kind of pretty that didn't need make up. He couldn't help but smile as he saw the fear and mistrust in her eyes.