half-raising the shotgun warily. A man’s face appeared, his skin the colour of teak, his close-cropped hair and neat moustache white and grizzled.
‘Friends or foes?’ he enquired in a deep, gentle, almost melodious voice.
‘Friends, we hope,’ said Xian Mei.
‘I hope so too,’ said the man and pulled the door further open. ‘Not that we refuse entry to anyone here. Come in.’
The four of them trooped inside and the old man closed and locked the door behind them.
‘Name’s Ed,’ he said. ‘Ed Lacey.’
Purna introduced herself and the rest of them. ‘You’re not native to these parts,’ she noted.
‘I’m from Florida. Was on holiday with my wife, Maya. Some holiday, huh?’
In spite of everything, Sam grinned. The man’s gentle humour was a welcome tonic after what they had been through. ‘Not exactly the paradise we were hoping for either.’
Ed laughed softly, then raised a hand and crooked a finger. ‘C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the others.’
The interior of the church was as shabby as the exterior — chunks of plaster missing from the walls, many of the pews broken or water-damaged. At the far end, huddled on rickety wooden chairs around a large crucifix that towered above the raised pulpit, were around thirty people. Most looked like shell-shocked parishioners who had fled here, seeking sanctuary, from the overcrowded slums of Moresby directly below. However, a few of the group were clearly more affluent, among them a smattering of white-faced western holidaymakers, who had somehow managed, whether by accident or design, to find their way here.
Looking around and nodding greetings at people as Ed named them, Sam noted that the ages of the group members ranged from less than one (a tired-looking bony-shouldered mother who couldn’t have been more than seventeen was breast-feeding a fidgeting, fractious baby) to a half-dozen men and women in their seventies or possibly eighties. One man who was younger than that — sixty maybe — was lying full-length on a pew, bolstered by hassocks and cushions. He was an overweight white man (though his face at the moment was the colour of beetroot), and he was breathing in ratcheting gasps, a clenched fist resting on his chest and his fleshy features knotted in pain.
An equally overweight white woman in a floral summer dress was perched next to him on a stool, clutching his free hand and murmuring platitudes. For the first time Ed Lacey’s face clouded with concern. ‘That there’s Mr and Mrs Owen,’ he said. ‘Mr Owen ain’t too well.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’ asked Purna a little sharply. Sam knew what she was thinking. If Mr Owens’ condition was caused by a zombie bite then they were all in danger.
Ed read the meaning behind her question immediately. ‘It ain’t what you think. It’s his heart, his wife says.’
Overhearing them, Mrs Owen turned her head. She seemed too preoccupied with her husband’s illness to show any reaction to their bloodied state or the weapons they were carrying.
‘He needs his pills,’ she said. ‘But they’re back at the hotel.’
‘What kind of pills are they?’ asked Jin.
‘They’re called Nadolol. They’re—’
‘I know. Beta blockers, prescribed for the treatment of angina pectoris. Is that what your husband suffers from?’
‘Yes,’ said the woman, surprised. ‘Are you a doctor?’
‘No,’ said Jin, ‘I’m a nurse. How bad is he?’
‘Very bad. He needs his pills regularly. If he doesn’t get them …’ The woman’s voice choked off and she shook her head. When she next spoke they could all hear the flutter of fear in her voice. ‘… well, I don’t know what might happen.’
Jin turned to the others. Quietly she said, ‘We have to try and get this man his medication.’
Purna frowned. ‘How?’
‘There’s a pharmacy on the high street. They should have some Nadolol there.’
Lowering her voice, Purna said, ‘We can’t go all the way back there. Taking a detour to come here almost got us killed.’
Hovering just behind them, Ed reached out and touched Purna on the arm. ‘Mind if I say something?’
Purna turned with a frown, but raised her eyebrows to indicate he should continue.
‘Maybe we can resolve this situation to our mutual benefit,’ Ed said.
Purna’s frown deepened. ‘How?’
‘Come with me. There’s a couple people I think you should meet.’
He led Purna and Jin away from the main group by the pulpit and across to a moth-eaten red curtain in the far corner. He lifted this aside to reveal a door, which he pushed open. Beyond the door the continuing sound of church bells grew instantly louder. Ed led them through a small sacristy and then through another door into a stone chamber containing nothing but a flight of circular stone steps. As they ascended the steps the church bells became so loud they could barely hear themselves think. Eventually they emerged into a stone-floored bell tower, where two people, both very different in age and build but wearing identical expressions of grim determination, were tugging at long black bell pulls. Ed raised a hand, but it was a redundant gesture. As soon as they caught sight of Purna and Jin, the couple ceased their bell-ringing as if by mutual consent.
One of the bell-ringers, a wizened, wiry woman in a nun’s habit, scuttled forward with a beaming smile and took Purna’s hand. At the top of her voice she shouted above the slowing but still-clanging peal of the bells, ‘Has He sent you to find us?’
At first Purna didn’t know what she meant, but then she realized. ‘I don’t know about that. We followed the sound of the bells.’
The little nun seemed pleased with her answer. ‘Of course you did.’
Ed leaned forward and said, ‘I think we and these people might be able to help each other. Can we talk downstairs?’
The nun nodded and they all descended to the sacristy. The second bell-ringer, a tall, handsome broad- shouldered man with caramel-coloured skin, brought up the rear. Quickly Ed made the introductions, then explained and summed up the situation.
‘We need medication for Mr Owen, and we also need food and water for everyone, and a way to defend ourselves until help arrives. I’m guessing you people would welcome the chance to get your hands on some better weapons too, to help you do whatever you’re doing?’
‘We’re getting off the island,’ Purna said firmly. ‘I think you should too.’
Ed shook his head. ‘There are too many of us, and some of us aren’t as … well, as physically adept as you young people. No, we’ll sit it out here until they send in the cavalry.’
‘What if they don’t?’ said Jin.
Unease flickered briefly over Ed’s face, then he said confidently, ‘They will. They always do.’
The nun, whom Ed had introduced as Sister Helen, had been sitting throughout the conversation with an almost beatific smile on her face. Purna now turned to her and asked, ‘What do you think, Sister Helen?’
‘About what, my child?’
‘Well, it’s evident from what I’ve heard that a lot of the people here look up to you, that they regard you as their spiritual leader. Do you think you should wait here for help or try to help yourselves?’
Beaming, Sister Helen said, ‘Oh, there’s no help to be found anywhere, except ultimately from God.’
Purna looked confused. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t follow.’
Sister Helen leaned forward and gently took her hand. ‘There is no escape for anyone, my child, not in this life. God’s wrath is upon us all. This is His judgement.’
Purna licked her lips, glanced at the others. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t believe that. To me, that just sounds like giving up, accepting the inevitable. And I’m not a giving-up sort of person.’
She expected an argument, perhaps even recriminations, but Sister Helen simply spread her hands. ‘That is your prerogative, my child.’
Again Purna glanced around, focusing on Ed. ‘So what’s the deal here?’
‘The deal is that this church is a sanctuary, that Sister Helen is kind enough to take in anyone who wants shelter or protection. Personally she believes that this is the Apocalypse, that we can do nothing more useful than pray and wait out the inevitable, but — and forgive me for saying this, Sister — not all of us feel the same way.
