Dead Island (6 page)

Purna stepped to her right and swung the fire extinguisher into the side of his head. As he staggered into the wall, she followed this up with two more blows – another directly into the centre of his face, pulverizing his nose still further, and the other a sideswipe across his forehead, the sound of impact like a coconut hitting a brick wall.

No matter
how
many uppers the guy had been taking, this latest trio of blows should have been more than enough to render him unconscious, if not put him into a coma. However, like a puppet jerking back into life, he rose to his feet again almost immediately, blood drooling from his shattered face like molasses from a cracked pot.

‘Fuck,’ Purna breathed and whacked him again. She didn’t want to kill the guy if she could help it, but the way things were going he was giving her no alternative.

On a sudden impulse, she pulled the pin from the fire extinguisher, aimed the hose at the bellhop and squeezed the trigger. A highly concentrated jet of fire-retardant foam shot from the nozzle, directly into his face. He flailed and thrashed, but Purna grimly kept up her attack, concentrating on his eyes and mouth so that he could neither breathe nor see. The foam dripped down the front of his grey uniform, running red with blood, making it look as if he had met with a particularly nasty shaving accident. When she had forced the bellhop to retreat about ten metres, she upended the extinguisher, smashed it into his face once more, and then threw the extinguisher aside and ran back down the corridor.

Logan had slumped against the wall and was now semi-conscious, breathing stertorously and clutching his bleeding shoulder. Purna wrapped her arms around him and dragged him into her room. As soon as his feet had cleared the doorway she lowered him carefully to the carpet, then ran across and closed the door. Now, unless the bellhop had the strength to break down a sturdy hotel room door, they were safe – at least for the time being.

Crossing back to Logan, Purna heaved him up on to the bed. She lifted his head gently and slid a pillow underneath it. He was sweating, his eyes were fluttering, and blood was still pumping out of his shoulder.

‘Logan,’ she said. ‘Can you hear me?’

His eyes drifted open, flickered around. ‘Where am I?’

‘In my room.’

He considered this, then his lips twitched into a smile. ‘Knew I’d make it into your bed eventually,’ he murmured.

She laughed suddenly, a release of tension after what had just occurred. ‘Dream on, lover boy,’ she said.

In the en-suite bathroom she grabbed all the towels hanging over the rail. The hand towel she ran under the tap, wringing it out so that it was wet but not dripping. She went back into the bedroom, dragged a chair up to the edge of the bed and sat down. Logan had closed his eyes again but was breathing a little more steadily than before.

‘You still with us?’ she asked gently.

He licked his lips. ‘Just about. Feel a bit woozy.’

She clicked on the bedside lamp to examine his shoulder better. ‘Are you in much pain?’

‘Not as much as I was when you kicked me in the balls,’ he replied.

She snorted another laugh. ‘Yeah, sorry about that … Actually, no I’m not sorry. You deserved it.’

‘Guess I was being kind of a doofus,’ he conceded.

‘At least you can admit it.’ She was silent for a few moments as she ran her eyes over his wounds. There were several deep bite marks as far as she could tell, each of which was still oozing blood. ‘Listen, Logan, I’m going to patch you up as best I can,’ she told him, ‘but I’ll have to clean the area up first. It’s probably going to hurt a bit.’

‘Thanks for breaking it to me gently,’ he muttered.

‘My pleasure. Now I want you to be a brave little soldier.’

She pressed the wet towel to his shoulder, soaking up as much of the surface blood as she could. He winced a little, but otherwise didn’t react.

‘How do the wounds feel?’ she asked as she folded the wet towel over and began, gently but firmly, to wipe the excess blood away.

‘Weird,’ he replied. ‘Numb, but they also kind of sting a little. Like a jellyfish sting.’

‘Hmm,’ she said.

‘What do you mean “hmm”?’

‘Nothing. Just hmm.’

Logan was silent for a moment, then he asked, ‘What was wrong with that guy?’

Purna finished cleaning away the blood and dropped the wet towel on to the floor. Picking up a fresh dry towel, she folded it in half once, then twice more. Pressing it to his shoulder, so that the towel covered his still-seeping wounds, she said, ‘Can you hold this for me? Press as hard as you can.’

‘Sure,’ he said, and did as she asked. ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ he grimaced, as she took another towel and tore it into strips.

Purna looked him in the eye. ‘I don’t know. I have no idea what was wrong with that guy. Maybe he was sick. Maybe he was high on something.’

‘You know what I think?’ said Logan.

‘What?’

‘I think it’s finally here. I think this is the fucking zombie apocalypse.’

There was a beat of silence – and then Purna barked a laugh. ‘Yeah, right.’

‘I’m serious. Did you see that guy’s eyes? And he tried to eat me, man.’

‘He tried to
bite
you,’ Purna corrected him. ‘There’s a difference.’

Logan shook his head, then gasped when pain shot through the side of his neck.

‘Keep your head still,’ Purna ordered.

‘Sorry, nurse,’ Logan said. He clenched his teeth as he adjusted position slightly. ‘But like I was saying, that guy wasn’t on drugs.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because he wasn’t the first person I’ve seen like that tonight. There was a woman at Sam’s gig. Same weird eyes, and just as crazy.’

‘But I was at the gig, remember?’ said Purna. ‘I didn’t see anything.’ Then her eyes widened. ‘Hang on – this wasn’t near the lavvies, was it?’

‘If you mean the restrooms, then yeah, it was. Why? What did you see?’

‘Nothing much. They were closed off, that’s all. Rumour was a couple of security guys got attacked. Someone said something about a nutjob with a knife.’

‘It wasn’t a knife,’ said Logan. ‘They were attacked by a zombie. Like that one out there.’

Purna made a dismissive
t’cho
sound through her teeth. ‘There’s no such thing as zombies,’ she said irritably.

‘I know a zombie when I see one,’ said Logan stubbornly. ‘I’ve seen the movies.’

‘Exactly!’ replied Purna. ‘
Movies
. As in
fiction
. Now hold still while I do this.’

Using a number of the torn strips she secured his makeshift dressing in place, then with another towel made Logan a sling, which she tied at the back, next to his armpit, to stop the knot digging into his wounded shoulder.

‘My arm isn’t broken,’ he told her.

‘No, but it’s heavy,’ she said. ‘The sling will take the weight and keep the wounds from reopening, give them chance to heal.’

He sighed, and said glumly, ‘They aren’t going to heal.’

‘What? Course they are,’ she replied.

Instinctively he shook his head, and immediately winced again. ‘No they’re not. I’m infected now. Soon as it reaches my brain I’ll become one of
them
.’

‘Don’t talk shit,’ she said. ‘You’ll be fine.’

‘You don’t sound too sure.’

She scowled. ‘I
am
sure. Even if that guy has got … well, something infectious, he’s not going to pass it on to you. We’ll get you to a doctor, get you the right treatment, the right medication …’

‘There
is
no treatment,’ Logan muttered.

‘Bullshit!’ Purna snapped, angry now. ‘Stop talking like you
want
to get sick!’

‘Sorry,’ Logan said. ‘Of course I don’t want to get sick. It’s just … oh, this is seriously fucked up.’

Purna leaned over him, and to his surprise took his face in her hands. For a moment he thought she was going to kiss him, but she simply fixed her dark eyes on his, staring at him until she had his full attention. Then, quietly but with such conviction that he couldn’t help but believe her, she said, ‘You’re going to be fine, Logan. I promise. I’ll make
sure
you’re fine. OK?’

When he didn’t respond immediately, she said it again, more forcefully. ‘OK?’

‘OK,’ he agreed.

‘Good.’ She released his face and stood up, stretching herself to her full height. She turned her head towards the door, graceful as a gazelle. ‘Wonder if our friend’s still out there.’

‘You’re not going to look, are you?’

She shrugged. ‘How else are we going to find out?’

‘But—’ Logan began, and at that moment his cell phone rang.

It wasn’t only
his
phone that rang, though, but Purna’s too. They came alive at precisely the same instant, Logan’s blasting out the old Survivor hit, ‘Eye Of The Tiger’, Purna’s simply giving a no-nonsense double-buzz every couple of seconds. Purna raised her eyebrows curiously at Logan and slid her sleek black phone from her jeans pocket. ‘Unknown number,’ she muttered, and raised the phone to her ear just as Logan was doing the same. ‘Hello?’

The line crackled, full of static, then a clipped, precise voice said briskly, ‘Don’t talk, just listen. I have a certain amount of information to relay, and at this juncture I simply don’t have time to answer questions. This call is going out to four separate numbers, and I see from the information I have here that all four of you have answered. This is good, very good. However, due to circumstances beyond my control, our lines of communication are limited. In fact, this signal could die at any moment – so please, all of you, listen very carefully …’

As if to illustrate the caller’s point, his voice was suddenly overwhelmed by a burst of white noise. Purna and Logan both flinched and held their phones away from their ears. After a few seconds the white noise settled back into a more bearable fuzz of static, out of which rose the caller’s voice, like the auditory equivalent of a ship looming from thick fog.

‘First of all, Mr Carter, could you tell me how you are?’

Logan looked shocked. Purna stared at him in wide-eyed puzzlement.

‘Er … fine,’ Logan muttered, ‘but how did you—’

‘Please be more precise, Mr Carter,’ the voice cut in. ‘What are your symptoms?’

Logan scowled. ‘I was attacked, OK? I have bites. They hurt.’

‘But you have had no seizures? No wild impulses? You are not suffering from lockjaw?’

‘Would I be able to talk if I was?’ Logan snapped. Then he sighed. ‘No … none of those things.’

‘Excellent!’ said the voice. ‘And you, Miss Mei? How are your symptoms?’

A voice came over the line – young, female, hesitant. ‘I’m fine too. My hand aches and I felt a little dizzy earlier, but I’m better now.’

‘Splendid!’ said the voice. ‘Oh, that is truly splendid!’

‘Can’t say how glad I am that you’re stoked—’ Logan began drily, but the voice cut him off.

‘Please, no talking unless I ask you a direct question. Now listen very carefully. There isn’t much time.’

There was a pause, as if the caller was taking a deep breath, and then he said, ‘There has been … an outbreak on the island—’

Instantly, despite his instructions, a voice cut in that both Logan and Purna recognized. ‘What kind of outbreak?’ asked Sam B.

‘Please,’ said the voice, sounding pained. ‘I understand your desire to ask questions but try to resist, all of you. I’ll endeavour to explain the situation as best I can, but before I do, I must warn you that what I’m about to say will almost certainly sound unbelievable. But you
must
believe me when I tell you your lives will depend on how you respond to my instructions. You must trust me completely and do everything I tell you. I really cannot stress that point strongly enough.’

Once again the voice paused briefly, as if allowing his words to sink in. Then he continued, ‘Now, as I was saying, there has been an outbreak on the island. A constantly mutating form of a particularly aggressive virus is cutting a swathe through Banoi’s population. The first victim was identified in the downtown area of Moresby city just under six hours ago. It was initially hoped that the virus could be isolated and restricted to a small area, but unfortunately this has not been possible. Since the victim first exhibited symptoms of the virus, it has spread at an alarming rate throughout the city and beyond. The current estimate is that the virus has affected around eighty thousand people – over sixty per cent of the population – though numbers are rising so fast that frankly we’re finding it difficult to keep up.’

His words were met with a collective gasp and a babble of questions. ‘Please,’ the caller shouted, and then had to shout twice more before a modicum of order was restored.

‘I realize how shocking this information is,’ he said, ‘and how anxious you all must be. However the reason I am speaking to you now is not to alarm you, but to equip you with the facts you will need in order to negotiate the hazards ahead. Our ultimate aim is to get you off the island, but to do that I’m afraid you must come to us. Already the exceedingly virulent nature of the pandemic has resulted in the instigation of extreme emergency procedures, as a result of which Banoi has been declared a no-go zone for outside agencies.’

There was a renewed crackle of static and both Purna and Logan held their breaths, fearful they were about to lose contact with what might prove to be not merely their only source of information, but a possible means of escape from the island. Then the static died and the voice came through again.

‘… furnish you with full and frank information as to the nature of the virus itself,’ it said. ‘I know that three of you have already had isolated encounters with infected individuals, and so are aware that symptoms of the virus include extreme psychosis, manifesting in a constant and intense desire to devour the flesh of the uninfected. What you possibly don’t realize, however – and I’m aware that this information may prove particularly … ah, indigestible – is that the virus acts by first killing the host body and then by reanimating the dead flesh. In effect, therefore, it is a parasitical—’

‘Zombies!’ cried Logan, his manner almost triumphant. ‘You see! I
was
right!’