Island of the Dead Page 10

  “Where are we going now? We've lost the lorry, we're heading in the wrong direction!” Emma said in alarm.

  Alex kept driving down the straight, clear stretch of road as the lack of windscreen sent in a strong breeze that blew back his grey hair.

  “We can turn off and head back up,” he told them, “If we follow the sign posts we can find the next town. I don't know what's waiting for us there but maybe we'll find your supplies.”

  Clare rested back against the seat, breathing a heavy sigh as Emma sat beside her with a doubtful look in her eyes.

  “We wont get much supplies in the car.”

  “This is better than nothing,” Alex replied, “Oh, why couldn't we just sprout wings and fly? We won't find those dead fuckers up there amongst the clouds!”

  “Not again...” Clare groaned, “Crazy, crazy man...”

  Her remark raised a smile from Emma, who looked away, watching as the fields sped by as up ahead, road signs pointed to the next town.

  It was late afternoon and the sun was mellowing to gold and the skies reflected its radiance as it spread through the blue. But the peaceful skies were contradicted sharply by the hellish sight below as the naked revellers danced and others sharpened knives. A large spit had been rolled out and placed over a smaller fire. The men in the cage waited, now running on pure adrenaline - time was running out and their lives were in the balance...

  Marc had managed to escape the house without using the gun. While the drunken party was going on, it had been easy to wait for the right moment and slip from the house. He had headed out into the woods, found the hidden panel, shifted it aside and breathed a relieved sigh to see the guns were still laid on the ground. He snatched up two, slinging one on his shoulder as he carried the other, now his hand gun was holstered too and he ran for the boat.

  Pushing it out and down the beach was much easier than pushing it up the sloping ground, once it was in the water he dropped anchor then waded out of the shallows and headed back towards the treeline.

  As he reached the panel he heard voices as guards wandered past, laughing and talking about the fine feast that would be served up at nightfall. Marc waited, his gun ready as he listened to their voices fading out, waiting for the right moment to cross back inside, where Parsons and the doctor were held captive.

  Vicki had slept for hours. When she woke she looked about the room feeling confused, then she recalled Greg leaving her here. She also remembered him shaving her head and gave a sob as she raised her hands and the lack of hair still came as a shock as she closed her fingers about her smooth head.

  “Bastard...” she said tearfully.

  Then she sat up, turning her head as she looked in confusion at the thick red stain smeared across the floor that came from the next room. It ran from under the desk and through the room and stopped right beside her bed...

  She froze for a moment, listening but hearing nothing. Then she looked over the edge of the bed. The limbless corpse with the caved in head looked up as it dripped blood. Its mouth opened and it snarled as Vicki's cries echoed about the corridors of the infirmary, as she sat trapped on the bed with the creature on the floor lying in wait as she cried out again, but the place was empty and no one could hear her screams...

  Chapter 8

  The firelight glowed brighter as the sun dipped and dusk began to fall. Marc stood in the shadow of the trees, beneath heavy boughs where lack of sunlight now offered much protection as shade covered him. He watched as the drunken revellers danced about, their naked bodies like moving shadows before the glow of the fire. Then two men who wore nothing but sheathed knives approached the cage. He drew in a deep breath, raising the gun as he prepared to pepper the scene with bullets.

  As the cage opened, neither guard was prepared for Parsons to lunge out, butting the first man in the chest and sending him crashing to the ground as he whipped up the cleaver high in the air and slashed the throat of the second guard.

  Revellers had turned to see the commotion, now there were screams and shouts and more armed men were running to the scene as Shadowbone turned from the large spit that was over the smaller fire and he held out his hand, making a silent request that was answered quickly as a guard thrust a gun into his grasp. He set his sights on the fight that was breaking out, took aim and began to march over to the cage.

  Marc ran out from his hiding place, firing into the crowd and peppering the assailants with bullets as one by one they fell, bullets smacked into flesh as the cleaver came down, hacking off hands and cutting throats as Parsons moved like a whirlwind, lashing out again and again at the naked cannibals. Both he and Christian were splashed with blood as they felled one after another as the crazed lunatics came at them.

  Marc sprayed another round, taking out more, then ran up towards the fire as Shadowbone ran down, and he squeezed the trigger first, jerking Shadowbone's body as he was hit by bullet after bullet. Then as a hand grabbed at him and sent him staggering backwards, he spun around firing blindly to see Damson naked and full of bullet holes. She slumped to the ground. Marc was firing off more shots now, taking them all out. It made sense to wipe them out – the world would be a better place for the survivors without them. As an attacker ran at Christian waving a knife he picked up a rock, slamming it into the face of the assailant, who fell on the spot, dropping the knife as he lay there with his face caved in.

  Now all that could be heard was the crackle of the fire as it burned into the night. The small population of the cannibal isle was dead. The field stunk of blood and guts and as Marc fired off the last rounds and the last fleeing manics fell with bullets embedded in their backs, he turned to Parsons and Christian.

  “I say we go back to the house, take the remaining weapons, strip the medical supplies and get the hell out of here.”

  Parsons was still breathless from the exertion as he wiped the cleaver on his shirt and put it back in his pouch.

  “Good idea,” he replied.

  “You go with Christian, I'll cover you,” Marc added, then they left the scene of carnage and headed back to the empty house to scavenge what could be found.

  On the mainland, the drive to the next town had taken a while, as several roads had been blocked off by crashed or abandoned cars, forcing Alex to go back and take the long way around almost every route. Along the way they saw them, the undead were at the roadside, staggering along, some just standing, watching the car moving through with dead eyes set on the vehicle as if the sight of it had prodded at a long lost memory of a sliver of life before.

  The sun's light was gone and dusk was drawing down to nightfall as they drove up the deserted high street where shops lined either side of the road.

  “This is a small town,” Emma remarked as they drove along, “And it looks very quiet. I'm wondering if any creatures that were around might have moved on. Maybe they were the horde we saw today. We need to find a safe place to bed down for the night.”

  Alex slowed the car to a stop and indicated to a boarded up pub. The sign was long gone with only the post remaining. The building was entirely boarded with no windows exposed and Alex looked at the place for a moment and then drove into the car park and shut off the engine.

  “I'll get the door open,” he said, taking a crow bar from under the driving seat, then he got out of the car carrying his gun on a shoulder strap and the two women followed.

  Once Alex set to work, old boarding soon gave way as he used the crowbar, then he pulled back one section, providing enough room to slip inside.

  “I'll go first,” he said, and vanished through the gap. Emma followed and Clare paused, glancing around as shadows fell and night beckoned, but she heard no trace of approaching corpses. Satisfied no threats lurked, she went inside then grabbed at the board, pulling it back in place behind her.

  The darkness was cancelled out by the spark of a lighter, then as it touched to candle flame and Alex lit the two candles beside it that had long been stuck by their own melted wax to saucers, the
wide room lit up with pale walls and a high ceiling. The bar was fully stocked, the shutters were not down and as she ran a finger over the thick coat of dust on the bar, Emma looked about the place, then at her own reflection in the mirrored wall behind the optics.

  “This place hasn't been touched!”

  A light shifted from the far end of the room, vanished and then came back again as Alex returned from the back of the pub.

  “The back exits are locked from the inside and have been for a very long time,” he replied, “The only way in and out was the front door and that was sealed from the outside. This place is empty...apart from a ton of leftover booze.”

  Emma smiled as she met his gaze by candlelight.

  “I know a man who will be very pleased to hear about this!” she said, thinking of Greg and imagining the look on his face when she returned with enough booze to stock the bar for months to come.

  Clare laid down her gun and gave a sigh as she felt thankful to be resting on the dry carpet beneath her.

  “I'm going to sleep well tonight!”

  “Alex, did you check upstairs?” Emma wondered.

  “No, but the stairway was cluttered with furniture. I'm willing to bet a large group took refuge here once, that would explain why they cleared the furniture out. They must have moved on long ago to have left the place sealed up like this.”

  Emma sat down on the floor.

  “We've actually got a peaceful night ahead of us! I can't believe how much I took that for granted back on the island!”

  Alex took the candles from the only table in the room and joined her, sitting beside her as he set down the light.

  “Tell me about your island.”

  As they started to talk Clare drifted off to sleep, thankful of the peace and respite from danger. The last thing she heard was Emma talking about Wolfsheer and for a brief time she ached for home, then slipped into a deep sleep as the others stayed up talking into the night, enjoying a rare sense of safety in a world that offered so little in the way of peace any more.

  After the boat had sped back towards the island, many had spotted the returning party, including Serena, who had run to the dock. By the time they arrived and Parsons had left the boat and ordered two of his men to unload the supplies, Serena's arms were around him as he stepped on to dry land, she was oblivious to his blood stained clothing as she held him tightly and tears of joy shone in her eyes.

  “What happened?” she demanded.

  “More than enough,” Parsons replied, “I'll tell you later...”

  Marc looked about the dock but saw no sign of Greg. Zodiac was standing with Helen and he went over to them, wondering why his best friend was absent.

  “Wow,” Helen said, “You look like you've been in a terrible fight!”

  “I was,” he replied, “But the blood isn't mine. You'll hear about it later. That island was a bad place... Where's Greg?”

  “Daddy went to the infirmary to see Vicki,” Zodiac told him, “She's not very well.”

  “I'll get cleaned up and then I'll head over there,” Marc replied, then he hurried off to grab a shower and a change of clothing and lose the stink of the blood that that was drying too quickly in the summer heat.

  While Greg was heading over to the infirmary, Vicki was trapped where she had been for the past few hours, on the bed with the creature on the floor below. The corpse was fast, slithering left and right, anticipating her every move as it snapped its jaws and snarled and leaked blood over the polished floor. Vicki had given up on screaming, because there was no one else in the building to hear her cries for help. She thought of Greg and despite her anger at what he had done to her, she wanted him here, right now, she had never been so desperate to see him. But she was alone and stepping down from the bed was not an option. Her legs shook as she stood up, she was gripped with the fear that she would fall and the creature would lunge, but her only choice left was to jump clear and make a run for it. She looked down at the corpse, it looked up at her, bared its teeth and gave a snarl.

  Vicki took a step back, setting her sights on the floor in the middle of the room, it would set a clear distance between her and it, she would have enough time to land, scramble to her feet, make it to the door and shut the corpse in the treatment room and make a run for it...

  She jumped, landing hard, slipping in the trail of blood and yelling as her ankle twisted. She knew at once to her great horror that standing was not an option, neither was running... she had to crawl, and that thing was slithering behind her.

  She dragged herself halfway through the open door, the corpse snapped at her shoe and she kicked out, hitting it in the face and pulling herself onward, dragging her own injured body through the trail of blood and at such a speed as it slithered after her that she had no time to turn back and close the door.

  “Help me!” she screamed as she crawled on down the corridor and the creature slithered after her.

  Greg turned the corner, breaking into a run at the sound of her voice. As he saw Vicki crawling along the floor and the limbless corpse slithering in pursuit, he dashed up the corridor, whipping a loaded gun from its holster and taking aim.

  “Get down!” he yelled, firing off a volley of shots. The first hit the creature's shoulder, the second punched through its throat and the third jerked its head back as the bullet slammed between its eyes and it slumped, falling still as its head connected with the hard floor.

  Greg holstered his gun and reached for Vicki, scooping her up into his arms, not caring about her bloody dress staining his suit as he held her close and carried her from the infirmary. As they left the building she pressed her face against his shoulder and sobbed.

  “I'm sorry, Vicki,” he said softly, “I was wrong.. I didn't know the corpse was in there, I thought it was all in your head!”

  She gave no reply as she carried on sobbing, soaking his shirt with her tears.

  As he carried her down the hill, he saw Christian coming the other way, heading for the infirmary. The doctor stopped, staring at the sight of Vicki, her head shaved and her dress stained with blood.

  “What the hell happened to her?” Christian demanded.

  Greg paused for a moment, knowing if Vicki had not been in his arms, he would have landed Christian a punch that would have knocked him out.

  “She was ill, she lost it, I had to consult your notes! She's had meds, I shaved her head to stop the hair pulling. Then your fucking experiment got loose and almost killed her!”

  Christian's jaw dropped.

  “Where is she... where's Lillith?”

  Fury burned like hell fire in Greg's eyes.

  “I killed it!” he snapped, “I killed it before it killed her! Now sort out my girlfriend's medication and drop it off at the house...I have to take Vicki home!”

  Then he walked off, carrying her towards the house at the bottom of the hill.

  “Lillith...” Christian said, feeling oddly pained at the loss of the zombie woman who had been more than just an experiment. Somehow he had thought of her as almost human and her loss was a heavy blow. He broke into a run, heading for the infirmary.

  As he reached the house, Marc ran over from the other side of the street. He had just cleaned up and got changed and he dashed over to join his best friend, worry plain on his face at the sight of Vicki with her head shaved and her dress covered in the dark blood of the undead.

  “What happened to her?”

  Vicki raised her head, still in shock from the encounter with the creature and still feeling the effects of the medication.

  “Greg did this,”she said tearfully, then she pressed her face against his shoulder once more.

  As he approached the front door, he glanced to Marc.

  “Get my keys.”

  Marc reached into his jacket, pulled out the keys and opened up the front door. Greg carried her inside and then went up the stairs. Marc waited inside, closing the front door and standing at the foot of the stairs as he heard water running, th
en crying from Vicki, then Greg spoke softly to her. Finally he heard the bedroom door close and Greg came back down the stairs. He had stripped off his blood stained jacket and shirt and he looked weary.

  “I've got to get those blood stained clothes washed before Helen brings Zodiac home...it's the second time I've asked her to look after him today. I'm so tired...”

  “What happened to Vicki?”

  Greg had shadows under his eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair and gave a heavy sigh.

  “She started hallucinating. It was getting dangerous. She thought she saw Stacy, then she thought Zodiac was a zombie... my little boy, a zombie? She was talking about protecting him from the corpse that killed Stacy. It was crazy. I took her over to the infirmary and looked up her notes, I dosed her up on her meds... I couldn't stop the hair pulling and she was hurting herself and Christian mentioned in the notes he'd suggested cutting her hair -”

  “She told me about that a long time ago,” Marc said, “He meant she might want to cut it shorter. He didn't mean shave her head, Greg!”

  For a moment anger flashed in Marc's eyes.

  “And maybe it will help her!” Greg said sharply, “You didn't see what she was like!”

  “Where did the blood come from?” Marc demanded.

  Greg caught his accusing tone and anger blazed in his eyes.

  “Oh no, don't you accuse me of hurting her! That was Christian's fault, his experiment broke out of the lab. I killed it, just before it would have killed Vicki. I put a bullet in its skull!”

  Just then Christian knocked on the open door.

  “Vicki's meds,” he said quietly, holding out the bottle as he avoided eye contact.

  Greg snatched the meds from him and put the bottle in his pocket, then he turned to face him. Marc felt the anger that was prickling in the air like electricity. Greg was steaming mad and he knew he needed to step back because this was between Greg and the doctor.