“Attaboy.” Ward said under his breath. “Good job.” He grinned.
“Well help ‘em!” John Mort goaded the frozen gaolers.
“Yeah.” The rapist Sullivan shouted. “Help the man!”
“Get the Doctor!” Finn told one of the other guards as he and Smiley reluctantly stepped forward trying to do something to stop Britten from flopping around and creating more of a scene than he already was.
While Britten kept the guards and inmates preoccupied, Ward slowly backed away from the others and moved over to where the lock picks were buried. Making sure he wasn’t being watched, he bent down and scooped the top layer of sand off the cloth wrapped tools. Still looking around he nervously slid the cloth wrapped picks into his wheelbarrow and swiftly covered them with the trowels and other equipment they had used that day.
Suddenly the commotion stopped and Ward hurried back to his spot behind the others. No one had noticed his retrieval of the lock picks, they were too busy watching Britten’s one-man show.
“You okay Britten?” Finn asked, kneeling down on one knee next to the inmate. Smiley towered above them, still slapping the baton menacingly into his big palm.
“Yeah... yeah. I’m good.” Britten locked eyes with Ward as he wiped the drool, snot, sand and other shit on his shirtsleeve. The other man just gave him a curt nod. Out of breath and red-faced from his ‘seizure’, Britten acknowledged the younger guard. “Mister Finn it must ‘ave been something I ate.”
“Cock ain’t never done that to ya before.” Smiley let out a raspy guffaw at his own joke then broke into a bout of dry coughs. Britten was going to say something about the giant guard’s mother, but thought better of it. He really didn’t feel like being pummelled by Smiley’s stick today.
“What ‘ave we here?” Doctor Stevenson and another guard pushed their way through the crowd.
Trying to stay cool and calm Ward quietly watched as the unkempt looking Doctor gave Britten a quick once over. If he was caught with the lock picks Ward would be thrown in the hole for sure. His freedom forever ripped from his grasp. Nervously, he saw the doctor stand up and turn to Finn.
“He seems fine. I think maybe he ate something that disagreed with him.”
“That’s what I told him, Doc.” Britten said.
“He can go back to work.” Doctor Stevenson said, annoyance thick in his voice. “Don’t bother me unless there is blood.” He said, grabbing up his medical satchel and stomping off toward the infirmary.
“Ray of sunshine that one.” Finn said to Smiley.
“Ya interrupted his buggering time, that’s all.” The giant replied then looked back down at Britten. “I’d give you a good smacking right now, but you were pretty entertaining. Now get your ass up and back to work! I should make ya scoop up all that cement youse spilt!”
“Yes sir.” Britten extended a hand so Smiley could help him up. The giant just spat at his feet and turned and walked away. “I didn’t think so.” Britten mumbled out of the guard’s earshot as he got to his feet.
“Here.” Finn said, as he reached down and lifted the empty cement bucket off the ground.
“Thank ya, Mister Finn.” Britten nodded as he grabbed the bucket handle. Suddenly the work whistle sounded.
“That’s it!” Smiley shouted. “Shows over and it’s time to head in! Grab yer gear and line up ya bloody wankers!”
Ward grabbed his wheelbarrow full of tools, he made his way along the line of inmates who dropped their trowels and other cement working tools into his barrow. Once the last man on the work crew had deposited his tools with Ward, Smiley stepped in front of him and raised a hand. Ward stopped as the guard briefly searched the contents of his wheelbarrow. Finding no contraband, Smiley waved him past the line of inmates and guards. “Straight to the shed, Cap’n Thunderbolt.” The big man let out a ragged cough. “No fucking off!”
“Yes, sir.” Ward nodded, heart racing. The inmate couldn’t remember anything about his trip to the tool shed, only that, somehow, he’d arrived outside the big building without being searched and found out. Now came another hurdle on his path to freedom and… Mary.
The usual tool shed supervisor wasn’t on duty, some other gaoler sat behind the check-in desk. The guard, who looked abnormally pale and coughed into a handkerchief, raised a finger at Ward, signalling him to stop before he entered the shed. The shorter man climbed off his stool and slowly walked down the few steps to the floor of the shed. Coughing into the blood-spattered handkerchief, he stopped in front of Ward and his wheelbarrow.
“Damn this cold!” The guard said, wiping some spittle from his chin then shoving the rag into his pants pocket. “Damn this cold!”
“You don’t look so good, Mister Lloyd.”
“Yeah Ward. It’s this damned cold that’s going around. I should’ve stayed home.”
“I hear warm ale is a cure all.” Ward smiled at the guard trying to alleviate his own fear of being caught. He knew the guard, Lloyd, from other details. The man was notorious for being one of the islands laziest guards. What good fortune was this?
“Twenty?” Lloyd said, doing a quick scan of the tools, not wanting to have to touch any of them.
“Yes, Mister Lloyd. Twenty.”
“Good. Jus’ put them where they go. You do know where they go, right?” The guard broke into another bout of coughs. He swiftly pulled the handkerchief from his pants pocket and wiped his mouth.
“Yes, Mister Lloyd.”
“You have any contraband on ya, Inmate Ward?”
“No, Mister Lloyd.” Ward began placing the tools into their assigned slots on the wall mounted shadow board. “I’m clean as the Governors Missus.”
Lloyd chuckled at that and started back up the stairs. He felt like shit and searching an inmate was the last thing he wanted to do. “When you finish you can head back to your cell block.”
Ward frowned at his continued good luck. The inmate quickly put the equipment and wheelbarrow away, taking a few seconds to stash the escape tools further inside his pants. Once he’d finished he hurried by the guard’s office, not bothering to peek inside. “Have a good day, Mister Lloyd.” Ward smirked as he kept his head down.
“Yeah.” The guard mumbled back busy reading some paperwork on his desk and trying not to break into another fit of coughing. “No messin’ around, straight back to your cell block.”
“Yes, sir.” Ward said again, still not believing his good fortune. All the way back to his cell Ward noticed there were fewer guards around. Those that he saw eyed him with a mixture of fear and wariness. He knew it couldn’t be because of him. The convict just figured something else peculiar was happening on the island. Well, hell, whatever it was he wouldn’t be around for much longer anyway.
DOESN'T THAT FRIGHTEN YOU?
“What the bleedin’ ‘ell is wrong with them?” Major Logan Kidd grumbled, as he stared at the two men who lay thrashing and growling incoherently on the two infirmary tables. Both men were covered in pus dripping lesions and blisters. The infected guard's eyes were dark red from broken blood vessels. The commander of the island’s guard detail was not one to suffer fools. He looked over at the prison’s doctor and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Stevenson, I asked you what is wrong with them.”
Doctor Stevenson pulled himself out of the man’s iron grip and shook his head. “I don’t know. Some kind of rabies, I think.”
“You think?” The Major crossed his thick, tattooed forearms and glanced back down at the two men struggling on the tables. He was thankful they had at least got them strapped down before they started freaking out.
“That woman must be a carrier.” Stevenson nodded to Sarah, who was still unconscious and strapped to another table. “Before he succumbed to this madness, Carson said she bit and scratched both of them. It could possibly be spread that way.” The thin Doctor pushed his glasses up on his nose. He’d been an Oxford graduate at one time, but his many bad decisions had landed him on this Godforsaken island taking
orders from a brute in a faux military uniform.
“You know I’ve seen a lot of strange things in Afghanistan and Africa with the forces.” Stevenson had noticed the African style tattoos that wrapped around the big man’s corded forearms. Some of them were obviously tribal talismans. Foolish markings.
“But this,” Major Kidd pointed down to the black tinted foam dripping out of Gimli’s snapping jaws, “this is somethin’ else. The locals around Kabul used to talk ‘bout gettin’ possessed by an evil spirit.” The Major watched as Gimli’s unfocused eyes seemed to track him. “They called it a Djinn.”
“I can assure you Major, it’s not an evil spirit or a Djinn.” Stevenson chuckled and walked over to his desk that was a mess of scribbled notes, papers and books. He lifted a dirty cup that held some tepid tea and took a sip. “Really Major, I didn’t take you for one that believed in superstitions.”
“Most soldiers are superstitious, Doctor. Sometimes that’s all there is when the savages are surrounding you and all you have is a sword.” He reached into his unbuttoned jacket and pulled out a much worn and dented flask. Unscrewing the top, he took a quick swig and replaced it inside his jacket pocket. “I have seen some things that would make you get on your knees and pray to the good Lord for help, Doctor,” he said still watching the infected guards ever changing faces. “It alters your view of the world.”
“Hmm.” Stevenson dismissed him, setting his tea cup down he turned to look at Sarah’s sleeping form. “I might be able to stop this, but it will take some time.”
“How much time?” The Major asked, glancing back at the irritating Doctor.
“A day or two.” Stevenson walked over to the woman and gently brushed some of her hair out of her eyes. “If it is rabies. I mean these three came in here just last night so…”
“I’ll tell the Superintendent.” Kidd felt a little disturbed at the way the Doctor was touching Sarah. Maybe the rumours were true. He intentionally made a big deal of clearing his throat which made Stevenson stop and turn his way.
“Can you hold off on that Major?” The Doctor dropped his hands to his side.
“Why?” Major Kidd frowned. “Now, why in the world world would I do that?”
“Well, earlier you said your men and women were frightened by this,” Stevenson said, waving his arms in an exaggerated arc towards the three people strapped to the tables.
“Yes,” Carson and Gimli began growling and moaning more loudly as if incensed by the Doctor’s prattling. Major Kidd frowned as he stared at Carson’s once familiar face, now strange and feral. The infected guard had served under his command when Kidd was a young Lieutenant. The lad had been a fierce warrior and a loyal soldier. They had saved each other’s lives more than once. It was deeply disturbing to see his fellow brother in arms like this. “Doesn’t that frighten you?”
“Frighten me? No. It intrigues me, Major. I’m a man of science not fear.” Stevenson gave the guard commander an odd smile.
“So, if I unshackled all three of them right now and let them lose you wouldn’t shit your britches?” The Major asked straight-faced. He was more than a little angry at the Doctors nonchalance at the condition of his men.
“Now, now.” Stevenson held both his hands open in front of him. “I didn’t mean that. I meant that there has to be a natural cause for all of this. I surely can find some kind of cure for it. No need to frighten the others. At least, not any more than they are.”
“I had half my staff not show up today.” Major Kidd crossed his arms and absently rubbed his chin. “The word is the island is cursed.”
“Cursed?” Stevenson smirked fully aware now that the commander of the guards was a true believer. The former soldier liked to flaunt his warrior superiority any chance he got. Now, the Doctor could flex a little of his ‘superior’ knowledge. “No such thing. Supernatural mumbo jumbo. Rumors always have a way of spreading fast among the uneducated.”
“I am sorry we all don’t have the luxury of upper schoolin’.” The Major said wanting to reach over and crush the little Doctor’s neck. He restrained himself hoping the strange, corpse buggering man could get to the bottom of what was afflicting his men. “Do you really think this is rabies?”
“Yes.” Stevenson grinned. “I can cure this. Tell your underlings it will be fine. No curse or evil spirits to worry about. Really. If it makes you feel any better, I can have Pierre move them into holding cells.”
“Doctor,” Major Kidd ignored Stevenson and watched the men continue to jerk unnaturally in their restraints, “I think evil spirits can be the only possible cause for something like this.” He slowly turned his head and fixed Stevenson with a steely-eyed stare that almost made him believe in the supernatural. “But I will give you a couple of days to prove me wrong. Because if this is an evil spirit,” he scratched his battle-scarred face. “We are all doomed.”
“Major...” Stevenson started to laugh but was cut short when the Major held up a calloused hand.
“I will send you a guard down to help Pierre put them in holding cells. Let me know if there is a change.” The arrogant doctor, just wanting to be rid of the scary Major, nodded in agreement. “God help us all doctor.” The ex-soldier said as he turned and walked toward the big, closed infirmary door. “God help us all. And God help you if you do anything untoward to my men or that poor lass. Criminal or not.”
“Major…” Stevenson spread his hands in supplication. “I would never.”
“See that you don’t or the island will need a new Doctor.” He opened the door and gave Stevenson a menacing smile. “Seeing the old one will have gone missing.”
CHOW HALL BLUES
Dinner in the chow hall was the same as breakfast. This time it was some kind of gooey biscuits and gravy. Tense quiet, laced with underlying dread. Ward noticed that even less guards were now on duty and about a third of the inmates that usually ate dinner were missing. Not a problem, that just meant more slop for him. Britten always had a keen ear for gossip so he’d told Ward what he had heard. Word was that some kind of evil tribal curse had enveloped the island and it was driving the guards and inmates crazy. There were rumours that some of them were biting and eating each other. On the other hand, he had heard that a bad cold had broken out among the staff and that’s why they were shorthanded. He tended to believe the latter. One of the guards walked slowly down their row of tables, then down another. Ward didn’t recognize the man.
“Do you believe that?” Britten asked, breaking Ward from his thoughts.
“Believe what?” Ward frowned, dipping his hard tack biscuit into the thick gravy that covered the evenings mystery meat.
“That folks is eatin’ each other?”
“Naw.” Ward said biting into the thick biscuit. “No such thing. I believe in curses and all but, naw, this is some bullshit. I once knew a Maori woman put a curse on a man. Made his dick soft every time he tried to get hard. True story. This, this is nothin’ more than a bad cold, for sure.”
“I don’t know Cap’n.” Britten said as he scooped his food around the tray, not eating it.
“Don’t call me Cap’n.” Ward said, tired of his silly self-imposed nickname. “Probably just a bad cold or some such thing. Ain’t no people eatin’ curse out there? Though this food is shitty ‘nough might turn a bloke into a cannibal.” Ward smiled at his own joke.
“But…”
“Ain’t no people eatin’ curse.” Ward cut him off. “I’ve lived with Mary for many years and her folks never did mention a people eatin’ curse. So, no more talkin’, understand?”
“Yes…” Britten realised it was his cue to shut up. “I mean Cap’n... aw... shit.”
“Enough.” He put up a hand. “Quit playin’ with yer food and eat it. Yer gonna need all your strength tonight.” The other man just nodded as he started to scoop the chow into his mouth. “Good job out there today.” Ward said, low enough so the guards that patrolled the chow hall couldn’t hear them. “Real good actin’. Hell, I
thought you were sick and I knew better.”
“Thanks. I shit myself and got sand up in my ass.”
“Now that is real commitment.” Ward pointed his fork at him. “Where did you learn that?”
“Wellington. Had a mate that had some kind of palsy. Name was Shaky Pete. He’d start babblin’, shakin’ and then he’d piss and shit himself. Real nasty.”
“Well, God bless Shaky Pete.”
“We used to also call him Shitty Pete, Stinky Pete, Wet Pete…”
“Okay. Okay.” Ward jabbed his fork down into what appeared to be biscuits and gravy, but tasted nothing like it. “I get it mate. I don’t need his life story. I am glad though, that he could pass somethin’ useful onto ya.”
Zombie Island Page 4
