‘No. I followed him. And when he was alone I killed him. Simple as that.’
‘You executed him,’ said Xian Mei.
Purna rounded on her. ‘You criticizing me for that?’
Xian Mei held up her hands. ‘Not at all. I would have done the same thing.’
Purna stared at her intently, as if trying to work out from her expression or the tone of her voice whether she really meant it.
‘So what happened then?’ Sam asked.
‘I lost my job. Everyone knew I’d killed the guy, but I made sure I left no evidence at the scene, so they couldn’t pin it on me. I was drummed out of the force quietly, pushed out the back door. Psychologically unfit for service.’
‘What about the guy’s family?’ asked Sam. ‘Didn’t they come after you?’
‘You know, I think in a way they were relieved. Jeffrey was an embarrassment to them, and a sexual scandal was the last thing they wanted. A family tragedy, though … that brings people together, doesn’t it? Engenders a lot of public sympathy. To them, it was better that Jeffrey was in the ground than in jail.’
‘So when did all this happen?’ Xian Mei asked.
‘Three years ago.’
‘And what have you been doing since?’
Purna pulled a face, as if confronted with a bad smell. ‘I’ve been working as a bodyguard for so-called VIPs in various war zones and politically unstable countries throughout the world.’
‘You make that sound bad,’ said Sam. ‘Like you a hooker or something.’
‘Maybe because that’s how I feel,’ Purna said. ‘I get a lot of work because, to be honest, fat, ugly, wealthy men like showing up with a pretty girl on their arm. It gives them a feeling of status, of power. And most people tend to assume that as well as protecting my clients I’m also fucking them, that it’s a double-whammy deal.’ She shook her head in self-disgust. ‘I make a lot of money, but I don’t mind admitting that what I do makes me feel dirty. I joined the police because I wanted to help those who couldn’t help themselves. But instead I’ve ended up as a servant of the rich and the spoiled … and sometimes that feels to me like Jeffrey Lucas has won, after all.’
‘You mustn’t think that,’ Xian Mei said firmly, ‘because it’s not true.’
‘She’s right, man,’ said Sam.
Purna smiled. ‘Thanks. But that doesn’t stop me hating myself sometimes.’
‘Yeah, well, I guess we all hate ourselves a little bit,’ Sam said.
Over in the corner Logan groaned and shifted in his sleep. They all glanced over at him and it was as if a spell had been broken, as if being reminded of their surroundings had snapped them back into the present.
‘So what do we do now?’ said Sam.
Purna frowned a little. ‘Why ask me? I’m not the leader.’
Sam spread his hands. ‘Hey, I was just throwing the question out. Far as I’m concerned, this is a democracy. But if you want my opinion …’
Both girls nodded.
Sam sighed and said, ‘Much as I’d like to stay here till this shit-storm blows over, I think the only way we gonna get rescued is if we rescue ourselves. Far as I can see, the two main things we gonna need are transport and proper weapons — preferably guns.’
Purna nodded. ‘And provisions — food and water.’
‘Medical supplies too,’ added Xian Mei.
Sam glanced up at one of the small barred windows. The glass was grimy but he could see the sky was lightening from black to a hazy, washed-denim blue.
‘In which case we should head out now before the world wakes up and we’re faced with more infected out there than we can handle.’
‘What about him?’ asked Xian Mei, nodding at Logan.
‘We’ll leave him here,’ said Purna. ‘He got bit pretty badly and needs to recover. It won’t do him or us any good to take him along.’
The three of them pushed back their chairs and stood up. Sinamoi, who had given the impression he had been following their discussion closely, now looked surprised. ‘Where you go?’
‘We need a car,’ Sam said, and mimed turning a steering wheel, ‘to do what the man says. Plus we need weapons.’ This time he mimed shooting a gun. ‘We gonna go look for some.’
Sinamoi looked concerned. ‘You not go. Dangerous.’
‘We got no choice,’ Sam said, spreading his hands.
Sinamoi held up a hand, finger pointing upwards. ‘Weapons. I got. You wait.’ Once again he dropped to his knees in front of the workbench supporting the radio and scrabbled underneath. He dragged out a battered cardboard box, the contents clinking together as they shifted. He indicated the box with a flourish, like a magician introducing his glamorous assistant. ‘You see?’
Inside the box was an assortment of knives and other tools that a lifeguard might need. There were several large, serrated diver’s knives, machetes for hacking aside foliage (and maybe, thought Sam, fighting off man-eating fish), a couple of crowbars with curved ends, and two stubby silver guns like the one Sinamoi had been wearing in his belt when he had first encountered them — and which Sam now realized were flare guns. Kneeling beside the box, he glanced across at his coat-hanger weapon, matted with now-dried gore, which was still propped against the wall, and wished it a silent goodbye.
‘Can we take some of this shit with us?’ he asked, looking at Sinamoi.
Sinamoi looked uncertain. ‘You not go.’
‘Your concern is touching,’ said Sam heavily, ‘but we got to. But we’ll be back to pick him up.’ He pointed at Logan.
Sinamoi was still shaking his head. Purna said, ‘I hate to burst your bubble, Sam, but I think he’s more concerned about the money he was promised than he is about us. He probably thinks if we go out there and get ourselves killed he won’t get paid.’
Sam considered a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of blue, red and orange bank notes. He held them out to Sinamoi.
‘Here you go, man. Plenty kina. You take it and we get to choose what we want from here.’ He indicated the weapons.
Sinamoi still looked uncertain. Sam pressed the money into his hand.
‘That’s all I got on me. OK?’
Sinamoi looked momentarily puzzled, then smiled. ‘OK.’
‘Cool,’ said Sam. He looked round and waved a hand at the box as if it was an open treasure chest. ‘Ladies, choose your weapons.’
Chapter 7. BARE NECESSITIES
‘YOU EVER SEE
Purna glanced at Sam. He was just ahead of her, walking along the road, a machete in one hand, a flare pistol in the other. Though his face was now clean, his red bandanna, jacket, jeans and trainers were still heavily stained with dried blood.
‘The old seventies film about New York gangs? Sure.’
‘How about you, Xian Mei?’
She shook her head. ‘Where I grew up, western culture was considered decadent and subversive. Although,’ she added almost proudly, ‘when I was a little girl my father did once bring home some video tapes of
Sam laughed. ‘Well, that’s kinda like
