Dead Island

by Mark Morris

  He had barely faced front again when two more of the infected appeared. One, a skinny, short-skirted black woman with spectacular legs, who had clearly been for a night on the town and had decided to head home a little too late, came running out of the open door of a nearby bar. The other, a white boy of about seven wearing nothing but a pair of green shorts, was crouched in the gutter on the other side of the road, devouring what might have been a dead cat, but he jumped to his feet at their approach.

  With the zombies heading at them from separate directions, it was impossible to avoid hitting both of them. An expression of calculating grimness on her face, Purna took the path of least resistance, veering to her left just as the boy took a running leap towards them.

  Caught in mid-air, the boy smashed into the van and all but disintegrated like a flimsy bag of meat – which, in effect, is what he was. For a few seconds the windscreen was coated in a thick spray of red and Purna was driving blind. Then, calmly, she flicked on the windscreen wipers and tugged the indicator lever towards her, activating the water jets. Sam sat back with a groan as the wipers swept the majority of the mess away, shocked by the fact that the boy’s violent death hadn’t affected him more than it had. What was it the psychologists called it? Combat fatigue?

  With Xian Mei directing them, they reached the gas station without further incident. Opening the passenger door, Sam said, ‘I’ll fill her up. You guys watch out for more of those things.’

  The girls nodded and Sam flipped open the cap on the side of the van, and unhooked the gas hose. For a second after squeezing the trigger he felt sure the pump would either be locked or run dry. But to his relief the gas started to flow.

  The tank was almost full when he happened to glance up and saw a face watching him through a small dusty window in the closed side door of the body shop attached to the gas station. As soon as he established eye contact with it, the face disappeared with a wide-eyed expression of alarm.

  ‘Hey!’ he shouted.

  Purna opened the driver’s door and stuck her head out. ‘You OK?’

  ‘There’s someone in there,’ Sam said, nodding towards the body shop. ‘A regular person, I mean.’

  ‘They look friendly?’ Purna asked.

  ‘They looked scared,’ said Sam. ‘She looked scared. It was a girl. Twenty years old, maybe younger.’

  ‘I’ll check it out,’ Xian Mei called, getting out of the van and walking across to the body shop. She knocked on the door. ‘Hello, anyone in there?’ When no one answered, she said, ‘We just wondered if you needed any help? We’re not going to hurt you.’

  After a few seconds there was a click and the door opened, albeit no more than a few inches. A girl’s voice, young and nervous, said, ‘What do you want?’

  ‘We’re just getting some gas,’ replied Xian Mei. ‘We’ll pay you for it if you want. Are you OK in there?’

  There was a pause and then the girl said, ‘My papa’s hurt.’

  Sam and Xian Mei exchanged glances. ‘Hurt how?’ asked Xian Mei. ‘Is there anything we can do?’

  There was a further pause and then the door opened a bit more to reveal a slender, almost frail young girl, who peered out at them with wide dark eyes, like a timid animal uncertain whether to emerge from its burrow.

  ‘Hi,’ said Xian Mei with a sudden warm smile which transformed her face. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Jin,’ said the girl.

  ‘Hi, Jin. I’m Xian Mei, that’s Sam and our driver’s called Purna.’

  Jin looked at Xian Mei and then at Sam. ‘How come you’re not like the others?’ she asked.

  ‘The infected, you mean?’ said Sam, and shrugged. ‘We don’t know. We’re just not.’

  ‘Infected?’ Jin asked.

  ‘There’s a virus,’ explained Xian Mei. ‘It … affects people’s minds, sends them crazy.’

  ‘One of the crazy people hurt my papa,’ Jin said.

  Sam tried not to look alarmed. ‘Hurt him how?’

  ‘She bit him. She tried to kill him.’ Jin swallowed. ‘My papa had to shoot her.’

  To his shame, the first question that leaped into Sam’s head was to ask Jin what kind of gun her father owned. Resisting the urge, he asked instead, ‘And how’s your papa now?’

  ‘He’s sick,’ Jin said. Hesitantly she asked, ‘Can you help him?’

  ‘We can try,’ said Sam. ‘You want to show me where he is?’

  After another moment’s hesitation the girl nodded and led the way inside.

  ‘Let Purna know what’s going on,’ Sam muttered to Xian Mei, and followed Jin through the door and into the cool gloom of the body shop. There were tools on racks against the walls, a hydraulic pulley system overhead to lift heavy car parts and a small office space in the corner. The place smelled of oil, grease and metal. Jin led him over to an open door in the left-hand wall.

  ‘This is where we live,’ she said simply. ‘Papa’s through here.’

  They passed through a short hallway with a threadbare carpet and into a small sitting room at the back of the house. There wasn’t much in there but a small colour TV perched on a wooden fruit box, a bookcase which mostly contained Reader’s Digest editions of classic novels and a ratty grey sofa with matching armchair.

  There were also lots of framed family photographs on the walls – some of Jin on her own at various ages, or with her parents, smiling and happy. Sam wondered what had become of the pretty woman in the photographs who, from the resemblance, was clearly Jin’s mother. He turned his attention to the man lying on the sofa with a blanket over his legs. He was evidently the same man in the photographs, but the difference between the smiling images on the walls and the flesh-and-blood figure on the sofa could not have been more marked.

  Jin’s father was sweating and feverish, his face a ghastly grey, his eyes ringed with dark flesh and rolling in his sockets. He was breathing stertorously and there was a bad smell about him, a smell of sickness and fear. His left arm was heavily bandaged from elbow to wrist, and on the floor beside the sofa was a bowl of water with a white cloth floating in it.

  ‘I cleaned and disinfected the wound, and gave him some painkillers, and I’ve been trying to keep him cool,’ said Jin. ‘But he’s getting worse. He’s been delirious for the past hour and he’s had a couple of seizures. I tried calling for an ambulance, but all the phones are dead.’

  ‘How long ago he get bit?’ Sam asked.

  ‘About … four, five hours.’

  ‘And this woman who attacked him? It wasn’t …?’ Instead of finishing his question, Sam glanced up at the family portraits.

  Jin shook her head vigorously. ‘No. My mama died when I was twelve. Anaplastic large-cell lymphoma.’ When Sam raised his eyebrows she said, ‘I’m a nurse. Just about to qualify anyway.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Sam said distractedly. He was thinking hard, wondering what to do, what to suggest. He knew that if Jin stayed here with her father he would eventually turn, just like the others, and attack her. Indicating the man’s bandaged arm, he asked, ‘So how exactly did it happen?’

  ‘He heard a noise in the night, thought someone was messing with the gas pumps. When he saw the woman he thought she was drunk or maybe ill. He went out to ask if she was OK and she just attacked him. Papa said she was like a wild animal. He said if he hadn’t shot her she would’ve killed him.’

  ‘So where’s this woman now?’

  Jin shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Papa said he was sure he’d killed her, but when we looked out later she’d gone.’

  Sam was silent for a moment, and then he said, ‘Listen, Jin, there ain’t no easy way to say this. Your papa’s ill, really ill I mean, and he ain’t gonna get better. This thing he’s got, there’s no cure for it. Pretty soon he’ll turn, like the woman that attacked him, and he’ll attack you too.’

  Jin shook her head almost angrily. ‘No! He would never do that!’

  ‘He won’t be able to stop himself. Believe me, I’ve seen it. Yo
u can’t do nothing to help him. All you can do now is help yourself.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Jin’s face was stony.

  Sam took a deep breath. ‘You gotta get away from here. You gotta come with us.’

  She recoiled, almost as if he had tried to strike her. ‘I’m not leaving him!’

  ‘You got to, if you want to live.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘He’s right,’ croaked a voice from the sofa.

  Surprised, Sam looked down at Jin’s father. Moments before, the man had been delirious but now, temporarily at least, the fever had abated and he seemed alert and lucid.

  ‘Papa!’ Jin exclaimed delightedly, and cast Sam an accusatory look. ‘You see. He’s getting better.’

  ‘No,’ said Jin’s father, his voice so weak it was barely there, ‘I’m not.’

  Jin knelt beside her father and took his hand. ‘I’m not leaving you, Papa. You will get better. I’ll make you well.’

  Jin’s father shook his head and winced, even that simple movement seeming to cause him pain.

  ‘You must go,’ he said. ‘If you don’t … then I’ll do something terrible, I know it … I’m having such thoughts, my beautiful Jin … such awful thoughts … You are not safe here …’

  His eyes drifted closed. Jin clung to her father’s hand, shaking her head, tears running down her face. After a moment the man’s eyes flickered open again.

  ‘Leave me some medicine … and lock me in … Help will eventually come … I know it … But in the meantime … you must go …’ His eyes shifted to focus on Sam. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Sam, sir.’

  ‘Sam … a good name …’ He swallowed. ‘Sam, do you promise to look after my little girl?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Sam said gravely. ‘I promise.’

  A ghost of a smile played around Jin’s father’s lips. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.

  Gently Sam placed a hand on Jin’s arm. ‘We should go.’

  Sobbing, Jin lifted her father’s hand and kissed it. ‘I’ll come back for you, Papa. I promise.’

  Chapter 8

  CHIMES OF DOOM

  ‘I HEAR CHURCH bells.’

  It was the first time anyone had spoken for a couple of minutes. Jin’s arrival had disrupted the status quo more than Sam had anticipated. He’d thought she would be warmly welcomed once he’d explained the situation, but although she hadn’t made it explicit, Purna had given Sam the impression that she regarded him as a soft touch, who would have to be discouraged from picking up every waif and stray he came across. She cheered up when she saw the shotgun and ammunition that Jin’s father had insisted they take with them, but had regarded Jin with exasperated disbelief when the girl had refused the offer of a machete on the grounds that she was a ‘pacifist’.

  ‘No such thing any more,’ Purna said curtly. ‘Not if you want to survive.’

  Jin looked apologetic. ‘Sorry, but there’s no way I could bring myself to harm a living creature.’

  ‘The infected aren’t living,’ Purna retorted. ‘They’re just people-shaped repositories of rage and hunger.’

  ‘All the same,’ said Jin, folding her arms as if she was afraid Purna would try to force the weapon into her hands.

  Scathingly Purna said, ‘With that attitude you won’t last a day.’

  ‘We’ll see, won’t we?’ said Jin, but it was not a defiant response; on the contrary, she looked intimidated, victimized.

  Purna shook her head. ‘No, we won’t see. Because we can’t afford to carry passengers.’

  ‘Hey, who died and made you queen of shit-storm island?’ Sam responded angrily.

  Purna scowled at him. ‘I know it’s tough, Sam, but that’s the way it is. It’s kill or be killed. And if you or Xian Mei are looking out for Miss Goody Two-Shoes here as well as yourselves, your attention will be split and that’ll lead to mistakes. And in this groovy new world, one mistake and suddenly you’re human hamburger.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ said Xian Mei calmly. ‘That we should throw Jin out on the street and let her fend for herself?’

  Jin looked alarmed, but Sam raised a hand to reassure her. ‘Hey, don’t worry. ’Cos that ain’t gonna happen.’

  ‘Course I’m not suggesting that,’ Purna replied, scowling. ‘I’m just saying that Jin’s got to change her values, and quickly, because cosy little indulgences like pacifism are just not valid any more.’

  ‘Maybe I don’t have to fight because I have other skills I can contribute,’ Jin said gamely.

  ‘Yeah? Like what?’

  ‘Well … I’m a nurse. I know how to treat wounds and injuries. Plus I’m a pretty good mechanic. I’ve helped Papa in the body shop enough times to know my way around an engine.’

  Sam nodded approvingly. ‘You can’t say that ain’t gonna come in useful,’ he said to Purna.

  She raised her eyebrows but stayed silent, refusing to commit herself either way, and as if taking their cue from her the four of them descended into a simmering silence.

  At Xian Mei’s suggestion they were taking a roundabout route back to the beach, following the coast road which took them close to the outskirts of Moresby’s slum district. Although the virus had spread from the city into the far more salubrious environs of Banoi’s resort area, Xian Mei had opined that it was worth taking a gamble on the fact that the infected would be sticking to the population centres, where there would be greater numbers of the living for them to feast upon. So far her theory had proved correct and the infected had been conspicuous by their absence. Now, though, the sound of church bells had thrown them a curve ball, and within minutes had prompted a fresh debate.

  ‘They’re coming from Moresby church,’ said Xian Mei in response to Sam’s observation.

  ‘We should check it out,’ Jin piped up.

  Purna, in the driving seat, shook her head. ‘No way.’

  ‘But there might be people in trouble. Why else would they ring the bells unless it was a cry for help?’

  When Purna didn’t reply, Sam said, ‘She’s right.’

  Purna glanced at him. ‘So what if she is?’

  ‘If people are in trouble, then we should try to help them,’ Jin said obstinately.

  Purna wore the expression of someone who was surrounded by idiots. ‘Everyone’s in trouble – everyone alive, that is. Or hadn’t you noticed?’

  ‘Is that a reason not to try to help one another?’ Jin said.

  ‘Yes it is, because we can’t help everyone,’ said Purna scathingly.

  ‘I’m not suggesting we should. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to help the ones we know about.’ When Purna kept on driving, Jin added, ‘If we ignore people in need, then doesn’t that make us just as bad as the virus itself? Worse even?’

  ‘She’s got a point,’ said Xian Mei.

  ‘Fuck!’ shouted Purna, and slammed on the brakes so suddenly that all three of her passengers were jolted forward, gasping as their seatbelts locked painfully across their chests.

  ‘What’s your problem?’ said Sam.

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Purna. ‘Maybe it’s just that I’m not heavily into suicide missions.’

  ‘Don’t you think you’re overreacting?’ Xian Mei said.

  Purna glared at her. ‘Oh, you think? You want me to drive into a heavy population centre which we’ve been led to believe is swarming with the infected, and you honestly can’t understand why I regard that action as a mite foolhardy?’

  ‘People are in trouble,’ said Jin.

  Purna closed her eyes briefly. ‘If you say that one more time I may punch you unconscious.’

  Calmly Xian Mei said, ‘Moresby church is less than a mile from here. And it’s on a hill above the city. We can get there without having to go down into the streets at all.’

  ‘And you think those bells won’t have attracted the infected from miles around?’ Purna said.

  Sam shrugged. ‘We can’t say for sure that sound really reg
isters with them. I mean, the TV in that old lady’s house didn’t seem to attract them.’

  ‘Apart from the fact that the old woman had been gutted,’ Purna pointed out.

  ‘Which means one of them got in, sure. But maybe they got a sixth sense for fresh blood or a beating heart.’

  ‘Why don’t we vote on it?’ Jin suggested, and raised a hand. ‘I vote we check it out.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Sam. When Purna shook her head in disgust, he added, ‘If people’re in trouble I can’t just ignore it. Maybe that makes me a dumb fuck, but at least I’ll die with a clear conscience.’

  ‘I vote we check it out too,’ said Xian Mei, and pulled an apologetic face. ‘Sorry, Purna.’

  Purna sighed but said, ‘I want it on record that I think this is a crazy idea – but I suppose I’ll abide by the majority decision.’ Putting the truck into gear, she asked, ‘So how do I get to this damn church?’

  The bells grew louder as they approached, and Sam couldn’t help but think of a line from an old song, something about chimes of doom. Following Xian Mei’s instructions they took a right on to what seemed little more than a leafy track through a patch of jungle that rose steadily uphill, the road so pitted and uneven that Purna had to slow the van to a crawl at times.

  ‘No chance of a quick getaway here,’ she remarked tartly.

  No one said anything, and a few minutes later the road opened out into a dusty clearing dominated on the far side by a pair of imposing black iron gates. Slowing to a halt, Purna said, ‘So what now?’

  Xian Mei looked momentarily hesitant. ‘Now we get out and walk, I guess.’

  Purna looked at her. ‘Are you kidding me?’

  ‘It’s only a few hundred metres through the graveyard. Look, you can see the spire of the church from here.’

  She leaned forward in her seat, pointing upwards. The others leaned forward too. At the top of the windscreen, rising above the trees beyond the gates, they could just make out a dark spire topped by a crucifix standing out starkly against the pale dawn sky.

  ‘A few hundred metres,’ Purna repeated heavily. Beyond the gates were gravel walkways divided by occasional flights of wooden steps. On a regular Sunday, worshippers ascending the hill would no doubt feel they were plodding towards heaven, but right now it looked like nothing more than a potentially lethal obstacle course. ‘Isn’t there an access road we can use? What about deliveries?’