by Mark Morris
‘But why?’ Sam asked.
Xian Mei shrugged. ‘To use as a weapon? Biological warfare?’
‘Motherfuckers,’ snarled Sam. ‘So why throw us into the mix?’
‘As guinea pigs?’ suggested Purna. ‘To see how immune we really are? They’ve already got our blood, remember, so we’re expendable.’
‘The question is,’ said Xian Mei, ‘is our mysterious caller working for the people who put us here or working against them?’
‘So what we talking about here?’ asked Sam. ‘Rival governments?’
Purna spread her hands. ‘Who knows? Our guy could be appalled by the fact that we’ve been thrown into the lion’s den and is genuinely working in our best interests by trying to get us out, or he could be working for an enemy government who want to develop a vaccine from our blood in case the virus is used against them.’
‘Or maybe he has a different agenda entirely,’ suggested Xian Mei.
‘Whatever the reason, we’re being manipulated,’ said Purna. ‘Moved around like pieces on a chess board.’
‘So what do we do?’ Sam asked. ‘Go along with it?’
Purna looked at Xian Mei, who shrugged. ‘For the time being,’ Purna said. ‘I don’t see that we’ve got much choice.’
They fell silent for a moment, each of them wrapped in their own thoughts. Sinamoi, who had been following the exchange with apparently little comprehension, now said, ‘More coffee?’
All three nodded and he crossed the room to heat more water on the stove.
Making it sound less like a challenge this time, Purna looked at Xian Mei and said, ‘You still haven’t told us the full story. You’re not a hotel receptionist at all, are you?’
Xian Mei sighed. ‘Is it really that obvious?’
‘Blindingly,’ said Purna.
‘OK,’ said Xian Mei. ‘I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.’
Purna hesitated a moment, and then said, ‘Agreed.’
While Sinamoi made coffee, Xian Mei told Sam and Purna the truth about her father, and the Special Forces squad, and her ‘special assignment’. When she had finished she looked at Purna. ‘Your turn.’
Purna sighed and sat back, as though wondering how and where to start. Finally she said, ‘When I was sixteen, I joined the Sydney Police Department. Nothing to do with my dad. I just … I guess when I was growing up I didn’t see a whole lot of justice and I wanted to redress the balance. But being young, and female, and half Aborigine, and – I guess – a bit of a looker, I had to put up with a whole lot of shit. Not just sexism and racism – though there was plenty of both, believe me – but people thinking I was dumb or that I couldn’t handle myself, that I was a soft touch.’
She paused, as if reflecting briefly on her past, then she said, ‘So anyway, all that crap … it just made me stronger. I was determined to prove myself, to be just as tough as the guys around me, if not more so. I’d been in the police force … five years, I guess, when I was assigned to this child molestation case. It was a bad one –’ she barked out a harsh laugh – ‘I mean, when are they not, hey? But this one was really bad. Nine victims we knew of, ranging from seven to thirteen. High level of brutality … I won’t go into details. Anyway, we found the perp. The evidence was irrefutable. He was a twenty-two-year-old rich kid called Jeffrey Lucas. Heir to Lucas Industries, a big pharmaceuticals company. On the surface he was a normal kid – privileged background, good school record, no previous, plenty of friends, girlfriend … the works. But underneath –’ she shook her head – ‘a moral vacuum. I mean, seriously. He was worse than any sociopath I’ve ever come across. He knew he was doing wrong, he understood the concept of human pain and terror, but he just didn’t care. He hadn’t killed any of the girls he’d harmed, but he’d brutalized them so badly that … well, let’s just say that if any of them manage to live normal lives after what he did, it will be a major fucking achievement.’
She was breathing hard and made a concerted effort to compose herself before continuing. After ten seconds of silence, punctuated only by the constant buzz and crackle from the radio, she said, ‘And the thing is, if he’d been allowed to continue he would have killed someone eventually. There’s no fucking doubt in my mind about that.’ She waved a hand almost casually. ‘Anyway, we arrested him, built up a rock-solid case against him, brought him to trial … and the bastard got off. Basically he was legally untouchable because of his wealth and connections. Top-drawer lawyer, money changing hands, a few words in the right ear … whatever. Fact is, he got off and he laughed at us. He fucking laughed. He thought it was all just one big game. So I hounded him, followed him everywhere. I got told to lay off. And when I didn’t I was threatened; someone broke into my house and smashed it up. And then one night …’
Her voice tailed off. She licked her lips.
‘One night?’ prompted Sam.
‘I killed him. Shot him right through the eye.’ She looked at Sam almost fiercely. ‘Best fucking thing I’ve ever done.’
‘You caught him in the act?’ asked Sam.
‘No. I followed him. And when he was alone I killed him. Simple as that.’
‘You executed him,’ said Xian Mei.
Purna rounded on her. ‘You criticizing me for that?’
Xian Mei held up her hands. ‘Not at all. I would have done the same thing.’
Purna stared at her intently, as if trying to work out from her expression or the tone of her voice whether she really meant it.
‘So what happened then?’ Sam asked.
‘I lost my job. Everyone knew I’d killed the guy, but I made sure I left no evidence at the scene, so they couldn’t pin it on me. I was drummed out of the force quietly, pushed out the back door. Psychologically unfit for service.’
‘What about the guy’s family?’ asked Sam. ‘Didn’t they come after you?’
‘You know, I think in a way they were relieved. Jeffrey was an embarrassment to them, and a sexual scandal was the last thing they wanted. A family tragedy, though … that brings people together, doesn’t it? Engenders a lot of public sympathy. To them, it was better that Jeffrey was in the ground than in jail.’
‘So when did all this happen?’ Xian Mei asked.
‘Three years ago.’
‘And what have you been doing since?’
Purna pulled a face, as if confronted with a bad smell. ‘I’ve been working as a bodyguard for so-called VIPs in various war zones and politically unstable countries throughout the world.’
‘You make that sound bad,’ said Sam. ‘Like you a hooker or something.’
‘Maybe because that’s how I feel,’ Purna said. ‘I get a lot of work because, to be honest, fat, ugly, wealthy men like showing up with a pretty girl on their arm. It gives them a feeling of status, of power. And most people tend to assume that as well as protecting my clients I’m also fucking them, that it’s a double-whammy deal.’ She shook her head in self-disgust. ‘I make a lot of money, but I don’t mind admitting that what I do makes me feel dirty. I joined the police because I wanted to help those who couldn’t help themselves. But instead I’ve ended up as a servant of the rich and the spoiled … and sometimes that feels to me like Jeffrey Lucas has won, after all.’
‘You mustn’t think that,’ Xian Mei said firmly, ‘because it’s not true.’
‘She’s right, man,’ said Sam.
Purna smiled. ‘Thanks. But that doesn’t stop me hating myself sometimes.’
‘Yeah, well, I guess we all hate ourselves a little bit,’ Sam said.
Over in the corner Logan groaned and shifted in his sleep. They all glanced over at him and it was as if a spell had been broken, as if being reminded of their surroundings had snapped them back into the present.
‘So what do we do now?’ said Sam.
Purna frowned a little. ‘Why ask me? I’m not the leader.’
Sam spread his hands. ‘Hey, I was just throwing the question out. Far as I’m concerned, this is a democracy.
But if you want my opinion …’
Both girls nodded.
Sam sighed and said, ‘Much as I’d like to stay here till this shit-storm blows over, I think the only way we gonna get rescued is if we rescue ourselves. Far as I can see, the two main things we gonna need are transport and proper weapons – preferably guns.’
Purna nodded. ‘And provisions – food and water.’
‘Medical supplies too,’ added Xian Mei.
Sam glanced up at one of the small barred windows. The glass was grimy but he could see the sky was lightening from black to a hazy, washed-denim blue.
‘In which case we should head out now before the world wakes up and we’re faced with more infected out there than we can handle.’
‘What about him?’ asked Xian Mei, nodding at Logan.
‘We’ll leave him here,’ said Purna. ‘He got bit pretty badly and needs to recover. It won’t do him or us any good to take him along.’
The three of them pushed back their chairs and stood up. Sinamoi, who had given the impression he had been following their discussion closely, now looked surprised. ‘Where you go?’
‘We need a car,’ Sam said, and mimed turning a steering wheel, ‘to do what the man says. Plus we need weapons.’ This time he mimed shooting a gun. ‘We gonna go look for some.’
Sinamoi looked concerned. ‘You not go. Dangerous.’
‘We got no choice,’ Sam said, spreading his hands.
Sinamoi held up a hand, finger pointing upwards. ‘Weapons. I got. You wait.’ Once again he dropped to his knees in front of the workbench supporting the radio and scrabbled underneath. He dragged out a battered cardboard box, the contents clinking together as they shifted. He indicated the box with a flourish, like a magician introducing his glamorous assistant. ‘You see?’
Inside the box was an assortment of knives and other tools that a lifeguard might need. There were several large, serrated diver’s knives, machetes for hacking aside foliage (and maybe, thought Sam, fighting off man-eating fish), a couple of crowbars with curved ends, and two stubby silver guns like the one Sinamoi had been wearing in his belt when he had first encountered them – and which Sam now realized were flare guns. Kneeling beside the box, he glanced across at his coat-hanger weapon, matted with now-dried gore, which was still propped against the wall, and wished it a silent goodbye.
‘Can we take some of this shit with us?’ he asked, looking at Sinamoi.
Sinamoi looked uncertain. ‘You not go.’
‘Your concern is touching,’ said Sam heavily, ‘but we got to. But we’ll be back to pick him up.’ He pointed at Logan.
Sinamoi was still shaking his head. Purna said, ‘I hate to burst your bubble, Sam, but I think he’s more concerned about the money he was promised than he is about us. He probably thinks if we go out there and get ourselves killed he won’t get paid.’
Sam considered a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of blue, red and orange bank notes. He held them out to Sinamoi.
‘Here you go, man. Plenty kina. You take it and we get to choose what we want from here.’ He indicated the weapons.
Sinamoi still looked uncertain. Sam pressed the money into his hand.
‘That’s all I got on me. OK?’
Sinamoi looked momentarily puzzled, then smiled. ‘OK.’
‘Cool,’ said Sam. He looked round and waved a hand at the box as if it was an open treasure chest. ‘Ladies, choose your weapons.’
Chapter 7
BARE NECESSITIES
‘YOU EVER SEE The Warriors?’
Purna glanced at Sam. He was just ahead of her, walking along the road, a machete in one hand, a flare pistol in the other. Though his face was now clean, his red bandanna, jacket, jeans and trainers were still heavily stained with dried blood.
‘The old seventies film about New York gangs? Sure.’
‘How about you, Xian Mei?’
She shook her head. ‘Where I grew up, western culture was considered decadent and subversive. Although,’ she added almost proudly, ‘when I was a little girl my father did once bring home some video tapes of Sesame Street.’
Sam laughed. ‘Well, that’s kinda like The Warriors, I guess. Except with slightly less violence.’
‘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 low-lying, 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 rag
e, 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.
