Isolation Z (Book 1): Dead Sea

by Riva, Aline

  “It's just my luck to take on this shift and find another one!” she exclaimed.

  “Another one? Someone else came by here today?”

  “Just a passing boat in trouble... of course they left the boat and let it drift away. Did you do the same? We're not bad people here, but we have a community to protect and we can only take so many in.”

  He still had his arms raised as he gave his reply.

  “My name is Marc Delaney. My boat is moored at your dock and we will leave if you want us to go. I have three people on the boat waiting – a girl named Vicki, a former helicopter pilot named Emma, and my best friend Greg who was badly bitten by the undead when we escaped an invasion, we were on an oil rig and it was over run. He was bitten today, he's not changing yet – he's got five days left. Please, if you can help us, if you have a doctor here, he's no risk. He needs help. Please don't let my best friend die!”

  As he looked at her, the pleading expression in his eyes deepened.

  “Please help us,” he said again.

  She hesitated, then nodded, keeping her weapon trained on him.

  “Okay... You lead me to your boat. And if you're lying, I'll blow your lying head off, have you got that, geezer?”

  He lowered his arms, smiled and nodded.

  “The name is Marc,” he reminded her, “Is it okay if I ask your name?”

  “Stacy,” she replied, “Stacy Jourdain.”

  “Sounds French?”

  By now they were walking back through the woodland, she was behind him and still keeping the gun trained on his back.

  “My father's family are from France. My mother's from the UK. I grew up in North London.”

  “How did you end up here?” Marc asked.

  “A friend had a boat. We left together, but they were all over the beach and I made it and she didn't. I got as far as the island. I was bit, but it was cut out, that was six weeks ago. I'm okay. I'm luckier than some.”

  They had reached the end of the shaded area, he ducked down to miss the transparent line and she did the same as she followed behind, then they stepped out into the sunlight and she saw the boat and now they stood side by side and as she lowered her weapon, he caught sight of the large, deep scar that ran down her arm.

  “Is that the bite wound?”

  “It wasn't big,” she replied, “But with these bites the blade has to go wide and deep to make sure the infection is gone. It was very painful for the first month but I'm not complaining...” she trailed off there, her sights set on the boat and the people on board as he led her over to the dock.

  “This is Vicki and Emma,” Marc said, introducing them quickly, “And the guy who is bleeding through his bandages is Greg. Can you help us, Stacy?”

  All trace of hostility and mistrust had gone now, wiped out by the sight of the gravely injured man on the deck of the boat.

  “I'm so sorry,” she said at once, “But I had to be sure your story was true. I'm supposed to go back and fetch help, report this before I bring you in.. but he needs medical attention. Come with me, right now. I'll sort it out with Mr Parsons later.”

  “Who?” Marc asked as he leaned over to the boat as the two women half carried, half dragged Greg over and with their help, he lifted him from the boat and on to the dock. The two women left the boat quickly, Vicki with the hold all of medical supplies.

  “Mr Parsons runs this place,” Stacy replied, “It's an off grid village that was built seven years ago. We haven't had any problems with those creatures since I've been here and I don't think much has changed here at all despite what's happened back on the mainland... except maybe we have to be tougher on crime, but it's safe here. You'd better carry him quickly, I'll lead the way to the infirmary...”

  As Marc and the two women combined their efforts to lift him carefully and he showed no signs of waking, Stacy led the way, walking quickly now, as the others followed behind.

  “Do you think your people can save him?” she heard Marc say, “Just tell me, will he live, Stacy?”

  She didn't look back as she carried on walking, leading them towards the clearing and on to the path that led to the village as deep concern filled her eyes as she considered how bad his wounds looked, and then she gave the only answer she could bear to give:

  “I hope so... Christian's a good Doctor. He'll try his best, that's all I can promise...”

  Chapter 8

  The journey to the village was a short one. In their haste to reach help they barely noticed the old rustic charm of the cluster of wooden houses, nor did they take in the single storey, round dwellings with the thatched rooftops that clustered over by the place where the land gave way to the open fields. Most buildings here had wind chimes hanging from them, some made of shell, others from old keys, some were more ambitious and crystals knocked together as they sparkled in sunlight. The delicate chimes carried on the breeze, adding an air of calm to an already bright and peaceful day.

  They passed the smaller plots of land used for growing vegetables and then headed towards a large building of concrete and glass, it was three stories high and would not have looked out of place in the average town back on the mainland. There were a few people about, including some mothers with babies and very young children, the eldest were playing over by a pond where trees grew tall and their boughs were heavy, offering shade from the heat of the day. The woman who supervised the older ones looked suspiciously to the strangers, saw they were carrying an injured man and then turned her attention back to the children once more.

  The vast building at the back of the village was the most modern structure here, it was bright inside and the floors were polished and the windows let in a great deal of light. A doorway to the left was closed and had a sign above it that said Residential Area. But they had walked into a wide open room on the other side of it, where chairs sat empty and a map on the wall listed a main corridor beyond and the rooms leading off it. One glance told them this was the infirmary.

  “”We can't wait,”Stacy said, indicating to an empty reception desk, “I'll lead the way, follow me.”

  Then she opened up a door and went into a corridor, and the others carried Greg through the doorway as blood ran from the deepest wound, splashing red on the clean floor.

  “Christian?” Stacy called, “Where are you, I've got an injured man here!”

  Just then a guy not much older than Vicki came out of a door at the end of the corridor. He saw the emergency and broke into a run, opening up a door to a treatment room.

  “Get him in here and on to the table,” he said as he snapped on latex gloves.

  As they laid him on the table and glanced around, seeing the instruments and equipment, they realised this was a small emergency room.

  “I'm Doctor Christian Wells,” he said, “A year out of med school, some time in a London hospital and then I landed the job as resident medical personnel here.... right before The Event... fortunate timing for me...Tell me about the patient.”

  As he was talking, he was cutting away the dressings from Greg's wounds.

  “His name is Greg Fitzroy. I don't think he's got any allergies...never known him to be allergic to anything. But I was just his chopper pilot,” Emma looked on anxiously as the first of many wounds were uncovered and blood began to flow from a deep bite that exposed muscle.

  “I'm listening,” Christian said, as he wiped away the blood and carried on removing the rest of the dressings.

  “We were on an oil rig, it got over run and we had to grab boat, he was in the water and the corpses attacked. This happened today, about seven hours ago.”

  “Yes, I can see it's fresh,” he remarked, looking at the deepest bite and noticing the way the blackened marks around the torn flesh had yet to spread, “You did the right thing to bring him here. I'll get him cleaned up and assess the wounds... Has he had any medication?”

  “A single shot of morphine a few hours back,” Vicki said, and opened up the holdall and showed him the remaining pre pac
kaged needles.

  He glanced at them and nodded.

  “That's fine,” he replied, “You can leave the bag of meds here, I'm assuming you will probably want to stay so any medical supplies are most welcome and although we are currently well stocked, that won't be the case forever...Oh … he's going to lose some muscle here...” as he was speaking, he was still examining all five of Greg's now exposed wounds, “You should go out into the waiting area now,” he said glancing up from his patient as he stood there, hands poised over the bites and blood glistening on the fingertips of his gloves, “I'll dress the wounds and once you've seen Mr Parsons I'm sure he can arrange accommodation for you all... Stacy, perhaps you should go and speak with him now and explain what has happened?”

  “Yes, I'll do that,” she said, then she left the room, pausing to hold the door open for the others. Emma left right away, Vicki glanced back at Greg then followed, but Marc hung back, telling Stacy he needed a moment. The door closed, and he turned to Christian.

  “This man is my oldest friend,” he said, “I know you've treated wounds like this before... what are his chances?”

  Christian was cleaning the wounds. He paused, his gaze with dark brown eyes a shade that complimented his silky hair as he lowered his voice to be sure anyone lingering outside did not hear what he said.

  “The bites vary in depth and size... the smaller two will be scars and nothing more but that's just one scar on each leg. The second bite on the left leg is very deep and the two on the right leg are wide with heavy tissue loss and both legs will need some muscle removed. It's going to be painful, he may not walk again... I may not be able to avoid amputation. He's not a heavy guy and I won't have much spare tissue to work with. In forty-eight hours the wounds will ripen, meaning the black trace around the teeth marks will soften up. That's the best time to cut the flesh and other tissue away. Then it's a lot of stitching to hold everything together. I'm not sure cutting out the bites will work. But I'll discuss his options when he wakes. Don't worry, I'll make sure he's comfortable.”

  Marc had hoped for better news but he nodded, thanked him and then left the room. The others were waiting in the corridor. He joined them and then they went back to the seating area, where Stacy instructed them to wait for her to return.

  “I need to tell Mr Parsons you're here,” she said, then she left the building, heading down the largest path that went in the direction of the wooden houses.

  Stacy reached the largest house at the highest point on the hillside as around her, the many wind chimes swayed and chimed in the breeze. She knocked on the door, then stood on the pooch waiting. Just then the heavy, grey haired man who had been on the previous watch opened up the door.

  “You should be on watch.”

  “I was, Alf,” she replied, “But I found some people too...”

  Just then Zackary emerged from the doorway, he glanced at Stacy and looked away, keeping up the act he had maintained since arriving. He had just met with Parsons, who had believed him and said he could stay, and now Alf was about to show him around the allotments as he had claimed to be keen to get on with some gardening...

  “People?” Alf wondered, “How many?”

  “Four. One of the guys is badly bitten. I'm not sure he will make it. The others seem okay, no injuries. I just need to let Mr Parsons know they're here.”

  Zackary had his back turned, but listened keenly as he thought of the boat that had sped away from the rig as he wondered if Greg and the others had made it to the island too...

  “You'd better go and do that now!” Alf said to her, “You should have told him before your brought them in!”

  “Yeah, yeah, I don't need a lecture. The guy was bleeding, Alf. I had to act quickly.”

  “I'd better show Zack where the allotment is – he can't wait to get started!” Alf chuckled, and as he turned towards him, Zackary forced a smile.

  “I do love the earth,” he replied, then he walked off with Alf down towards the path.

  “What's this I hear about breaking rules?”

  As the door opened wider, Serena stood in the doorway. She had long red hair that was tied back in a high ponytail and wore a sheer summer gown that fell to her ankles. Rings sparkled on her fingers and she had a small tattoo of the third eye in the middle of her brow. It was hard to guess how old Serena was, perhaps thirty five, maybe forty. The rumour went that she had been a practising witch with her own occult store before the undead had taken over, now she lived with Parsons as his wife. Her skin was pale, her eyes sea green and she smiled knowingly at Stacy.

  “Antonio won't be angry. You practised compassion helping a wounded man. We are all beings of the earth and sharing its elements, you reached out with your power of choice and made the right decision. Come inside.”

  Stacy stepped inside, and she closed the door softly behind her.

  In the house, the walls were covered with wall hangings of moon and stars and people floating in stardust all shaped like slices of planet earth as if the place was a jigsaw and the pieces had scattered. Soft rugs were here and there to cover the wooden floors, the furniture was old and darkly varnished and the seating was padded in a shade of green. The fireplace stood dark, on the shelf above it were ornaments and incense burners. The window was open and wind spinners were turning merrily on the breeze in a silver shimmer. In the next room potted plants were dotted about the room, their vines trailing and leaves shining all shades of green as light escaped in.

  Then a curtain that divided the next room from the entrance was pulled back and Antonio Parsons stood there with a thoughtful look in eyes as deep brown as his skin. His raven shaded dreadlocks fell to his shoulders and his clothing was simple, a white shirt that was partly open and faded jeans, but the silver chain he wore around his neck carried the pendant that was the symbol of the island – a planet with a hand made of water gushing in a wave to clutch it. Parsons believed water was the sacred link between man and earth, this he said, was why the natural spring was right here on Wolfsheer Island. The waters were said to be cleansing, healing, powerful... Stacy had bathed in them while her arm was healing. The pain had faded three days later...

  “Just explain,” Serena said, then she smiled to her husband and left the room.

  “I'm sorry, Mr Parsons,” Stacy began, “I found some people... they were desperate... one of their group was injured badly and he would have died so I took them to the village and Greg's with Christian now, in the infirmary.”

  As Parsons looked at Stacy, warmth shone in his eyes.

  “Perhaps we should sit down and talk? By the way,” he said, as he went back through the curtain to his study and held the curtain back for her to follow, “That was the right choice. You chose with compassion. I'm proud of you.”

  She smiled at last as her anxiety faded away. Then they went through to the study where books lined the walls and he led her over to a seat by a window that overlooked a garden, and he sat and invited her to join him. Stacy sat down and began to speak at once.

  “They have a boat and it seems undamaged. They've already given a large bag of medical supplies to the infirmary. They seem generous. I don't think they would object if the boat was used for fishing.”

  He chuckled.

  “Oh Stacy, always thinking of ways to give back. Thank you. Tell me about the newcomers.”

  She paused for thought as she sat there, for a moment she trailed a finger tip down the deep scar on her arm as she thought about the day this community had saved her, and not so long ago, too...

  “Vicki's early twenties... Emma looks around thirty and she used to be a helicopter pilot. Marc seems like a man who will be willing to help with security. He's very professional with a gun, very confident. He's Greg's best friend. I'm not sure about Greg, that poor man has bites. He was bitten today when they escaped an over run oil rig.”

  “Can Christian help?”

  She thought of Greg, and her heart went out to him.

  “I don't know
, Mr Parsons...” she blinked away tears, surprised at the depth of her concern for the stranger who had just arrived, “The bites are deep, he has them on both legs below the knee. He's not a heavy guy either, quite slim...I don't think there will be much flesh to work with once the infection is gone. I know how much Christian had to take out of my arm and my bite was small... Oh, that poor man...”

  He looked at her thoughtfully and then an idea came to him, and he felt sure it would be a decision that would be good for Greg and help Stacy to feel less powerless too.

  “We were in the process of hiring new medical staff when the corpses arose to dash away society,” he reminded her, “Christian is the only doctor on the island. I'm sure he would approve of your help. While Greg is awaiting treatment he will need a nurse and certainly afterwards too. You may take that position if you wish. Be a companion to him. That role can encompass anything you both wish. Perhaps the man needs company?”

  She smiled as her face flushed and for a moment she couldn't meet his gaze. It was common knowledge that here on the island, love was free to roam where it chose and it had occurred to her that Greg, despite his injuries, was an attractive man.

  “You sound like you're giving him to me,” she said as she shyly met his gaze once more.

  “Not giving,” he said fondly, “Offering. We all offer of ourselves in different ways. If Marc is happy to aid us with security and parole the island, you are free to take up the job of helper to Greg. Perhaps this companionship from one of our own will lend him the strength he needs to get through this.”

  She nodded.

  “I think you could be right.”

  He smiled warmly.