Dead Island

‘What’s your point?’ asked Purna.

Sam shrugged. ‘When I first saw The Warriors I was maybe eleven, twelve years old. I mean, I thought it was cool and all, but … guys painting their faces like clowns? Gangs on roller skates? Even back then it seemed kinda dumb.’ He hesitated. ‘It’s weird, but I kinda feel the same now. Like this is unreal. Like it can’t really be happening. I mean, look around you. We got palm trees, and peace and quiet, and all that holiday shit, and pretty soon the sun’s gonna come out and it’s gonna be another beautiful day. I mean, that just don’t equate with people killing and eating each other and coming back from the dead. Here we are, walking along like we’re going into battle when we should be heading down to the beach. It’s crazy, man.’

‘“In war, it’s best not to think, it’s best just to do, because thinking clouds your judgement”,’ said Purna.

‘That right?’ said Sam, looking at her strangely.

Purna shrugged. ‘Or so someone once said anyway.’

‘Oh yeah? Who was that?’ asked Sam.

‘I can’t remember. All I know is I read it somewhere, and it seemed like sound advice at the time. It still does.’

Sam grunted.

Above them the sky was lightening in jags and streaks, as if the night sky was merely a cloth that was splitting apart as it shrank, revealing the paler blue of a new day beneath. Out on the horizon the sea shimmered like gold, and looking at it Sam couldn’t help but think how quickly the world could turn, how nothing was ever predictable. This time yesterday he’d been thinking that his first full day on Banoi would maybe involve a swim, a little sunbathing, perhaps a cocktail or two by the pool. Aside from his daily routine of sit-ups and push-ups, he had envisaged nothing more strenuous during his time here than some windsurfing and scuba diving, possibly an occasional light jog along the white sand before settling down to breakfast on his hotel balcony.

On Sinamoi’s advice they were currently following the low beach road into town, which was a little longer and more uneven than the main thoroughfare, but considerably quieter. It was, in truth, barely more than a dirt track, maybe wide enough for one car but certainly not two. To the left of the track was a sandy verge populated with lowlying, shrub-like eucalyptus trees, and dotted with occasional clusters of tin-roofed fishermen’s huts, all of which had been bleached and weathered by the elements. Beyond this, when the land dipped, they caught brief glittering glimpses of the sea, which appeared to be growing bluer and brighter with each minute that passed.

To the right of the track the foliage was thicker, rough-barked palms crowding together to form a wall whose spade-like leaves would provide welcome shade later in the day. Brightly coloured butterflies zigzagged through the air, and tiny brown and green lizards scurried across the path ahead of them as they walked. Above their heads, intermittently glimpsed birds of paradise screeched and clucked and cawed, and unseen insects crooned in the undergrowth. For the rest of nature it was business as usual, the latest in an endless succession of identical days. But for humankind it was a new and terrible dawn; the beginning of the end.

As if to confirm this, there was a sudden ratcheting scream, which caused a flock of multi-coloured birds to take flight, and a woman appeared from behind one of the fishermen’s huts on their left. She was a young, dark- haired, olive-skinned woman, naked but for a pair of peach-coloured bikini briefs. One of her smallish breasts was hanging in bloody tatters, and further bites had been taken from her right arm and her abdomen.

Not that her injuries seemed to worry her, or slow her down in the slightest. She came at them like a rabid fan that had broken through a barrier at a pop concert. Except that in her eyes there was not adulation but a murderous, ravenous rage, and her scream was not an expression of excited hysteria but a primal, anguished howl.

Sam raised the flare pistol he was holding and pulled the trigger. There was a loud phut sound and the flare hurtled from the nozzle in a flash of fire and smoke like an avenging angel. It hit the woman full in her screaming mouth and seemed — to Sam at least — to briefly illuminate the inside of her head like a Halloween pumpkin. The woman’s head snapped back as if she had run full-tilt into a hidden wire positioned at neck-height, her feet skidding from under her. As she went down on to her back, hands clawing at the air, Sam rushed forward, and before the woman could recover, he raised his cleaver and brought it down with all his strength.

His intention was to sever her head with one blow, but he misjudged slightly and the blade hit her just below the nose, bisecting her face. Blood spurted up with such force that it splashed the underside of his chin and trickled down his neck. He swore as the machete jammed in the front of her skull, almost overbalancing him. As the woman’s clutching hand grabbed and tightened around his ankle, Xian Mei glided forward and with ruthless efficiency lopped off the woman’s arm at the wrist.

‘Godammit!’ Sam grunted, yanking and twisting the machete free of the woman’s mangled face. Stepping back, he raised it and brought it down again and this time his aim was true. The blade sliced through her neck all the way to her spine. A further blow severed the spine itself and life went out of the woman abruptly and permanently, her body slumping, becoming still.

‘And so it begins,’ said Purna, her eyes darting everywhere, alert for further attacks.

Sam wiped the blade of his machete on the furry bark of a nearby palm tree and reloaded the flare pistol. ‘Least they let us know they’re comin’,’ he said. ‘One thing they ain’t is sneaky.’

They continued on, Sam muttering about how he’d only just cleaned last night’s blood off his skin, and now here he was, all covered in it again. ‘And I ain’t even had my breakfast yet,’ he said.

‘What? You hoping to find somewhere we can stop off for a latte and a croissant?’ teased Purna.

‘Hell no. In light of the situation I’d settle for grits and a soda.’

Purna snorted a laugh.

They knew they were nearing the main street when the ground rose abruptly, curving away from the sea. Suddenly the path became a set of stone steps, caged on both sides by a waist-high chain-link fence.

‘We need to be extra vigilant from now on,’ Purna said. ‘Try not to get hemmed in anywhere.’

‘Like here you mean?’ said Sam, eyeing the surrounding foliage nervously.

‘We don’t have much choice here,’ said Purna. ‘Let’s just move quickly and stay alert.’

They hurried up the steps, weapons at the ready. Near the top they heard the sound of voices. Sam raised a hand and they paused a moment, listening.

It sounded like two men talking, though what Sam, Purna and Xian Mei found puzzling was that they were making no attempt to keep their voices low. However, although the voices were loud, they had a muffled quality to them, indicating they were indoors rather than out in the open.

‘What the hell is—’ Sam began, then they all heard a sound that answered the question he was about to ask: canned laughter.

‘It’s a TV show,’ Xian Mei said.

Sam frowned. ‘But who’d be watching TV at a time like this?’

‘Maybe someone who has no idea what’s happening,’ Purna suggested.

‘Then I guess we ought to tell them,’ said Sam, ‘before they find out the hard way.’

The blaring of the TV grew louder as they ascended the last dozen steps. Though the infected had probably had hours to check out the noise, it still made all three of them nervous to be so close to something that could potentially attract attention. The top of the steps opened out into a back yard, behind what Sam guessed was one of the buildings lining the long main street. From what he had seen of them, the bars, restaurants and retail outlets were not only crammed together in a jumble of shapes and sizes and styles, but they were also in various states of repair, as if the street had grown up organically, rather than being planned as a tourist-serving fait accompli from the outset.

This particular building was a shabby clapboard affair sandwiched between two taller and more austere edifices constructed of steel, glass and polished wood. Ominously there was an overturned dustbin in the yard, spewing rubbish, and the screen door at the back was half open. A narrow alley to the left of the building provided access to and from the main street.

‘This doesn’t look good,’ said Xian Mei.

Sam glanced at her. ‘Think we should check it out?’

‘It would probably be foolish,’ said Purna.

‘But?’ said Sam.

She sighed. ‘But if someone is in there, oblivious to what’s happening …’

Sam nodded. ‘They might as well be banging a dinner gong.’