by Mark Morris
Jin shook her head. ‘Anything the church needs is carried up from here. They’ve always managed before now.’
‘Before now they didn’t have the undead to contend with,’ Purna remarked.
Sam unclipped his seatbelt. ‘Come on, let’s get this thing done.’
Because Purna had handled one before, and because the other three felt secretly guilty at involving her in a situation of potential and unnecessary danger, it was decided that the Australian girl would carry the shotgun. Sam and Xian Mei had a flare pistol and a machete each, and after a couple of minutes of heated debate, Jin was persuaded to carry a crowbar to – if need be – ‘defend herself with’.
Despite the presence of dozens of sun-bleached grave markers straggling uphill and leaning every which way, the route up to Moresby church was more like a tropical garden than a typical graveyard. In fact, there were several routes to choose from, each one winding through clumps of palm trees and thick vegetation. The sun had burst over the horizon now and was creeping steadily higher in the sky, the insects and birds launching gustily into their dawn chorus as the day grew brighter and hotter. Purna looked around warily, remarking that everyone should be extra vigilant, as the sound of insects, birds and bells would almost certainly be enough to mask the approach of the infected. She had barely finished speaking when a zombie erupted out of the bushes about eight metres ahead of them, blocking their path.
It was a big, heavily tattooed guy with facial piercings and green hair. He was slathered in blood, some of it fresh, especially around his mouth, but much of it black and stiff on his white Kurt Cobain T-shirt and ripped jeans. Jin screamed as he ran at them, snarling like a particularly ferocious guard dog. Almost un hurriedly, Purna raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger, the blast hitting him square in the jaw and all but tearing his face away.
He went down so heavily that Sam fancied he felt the ground shake beneath his feet.
‘This is not a good idea,’ said Purna.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Sam conceded reluctantly. He turned, and was shocked to see three more of the infected break cover behind them, emerging from the bushes and trees flanking the gate. There was a middle-aged man and woman – they might even have been husband and wife – dressed in the loud shirts and shorts of the typical western holidaymaker, and a younger, bearded man wearing khaki shorts, whose naked upper torso was covered in bite-marks.
The trio of zombies ran at them, their faces bestial. The woman stumbled and fell, but picked herself up immediately, her chubby knees scuffed and bloodied. Purna raised the shotgun again and took out the bearded guy who was drawing ahead of the older man, but succeeded only in wounding him. Quickly assessing their odds, knowing that she wouldn’t have time to reload before the zombies were on them, she gestured towards the church and shouted, ‘Run!’
Although he didn’t like turning his back on the snarling trio behind them, Sam knew that – for now at least – discretion was the better part of valour. Even so, he deliberately dropped to the back of the group, urging Xian Mei and especially Jin ahead of him. Fortunately he and his companions were younger and fitter than the animated cadavers chasing them and they quickly drew away from their pursuers. The only dangers with moving so quickly, of course, was that they were more prone to losing their footing and they didn’t have time to assess their surroundings or the terrain ahead of them.
This drawback almost proved Purna’s undoing when another of the infected leaped from the clump of bushes she was running past and hit her side on, knocking her over. The shotgun flew from her hands as she fell, the zombie on top of her, its hands and teeth already trying to tear at her body. It was a teenage boy, a ghetto kid, his clothes frayed and threadbare, almost colourless from having been washed too many times. As he and Purna hit the ground, the impact knocked them apart, but the boy was up quickly and flying at her again.
Taken by surprise and momentarily stunned, Purna could only flail at him, yelling in anger and pain as he bit into the side of her arm. Sam ran forward to help her, already raising his machete, but it was Jin and Xian Mei, ahead of him, who reached Purna first. Acting instinctively, Jin raised the crowbar she was carrying and brought it down on the boy’s back. Although it barely injured him, it was enough, at least, to distract him for a moment. His head snapped up and round, his face a screeching mask of white eyes and bared, blood-slicked teeth. Pushing Jin unceremoniously out of the way, Xian Mei sprang forward and decapitated him with one sweeping blow of the machete.
As the head flew into the bushes, the boy’s body crumpled, his hands grotesquely clenching and unclenching. Hearing snarls and heavy breathing behind him, Sam whirled round. The delay had enabled the middle-aged couple and the wounded man to catch up with them. Sam raised the flare pistol and fired it directly into the middle-aged man’s twisted, bespectacled face. His head flared like a struck match, his hair igniting. As he staggered to one side, Sam jumped forward and finished him off with the machete.
Xian Mei, meanwhile, was dealing with the bearded man. Leaping with athletic grace, she shot out her foot in a high kick which connected with his solar plexus. He stumbled backwards, his left arm hanging uselessly where Purna had almost severed it at the shoulder with the shotgun blast, and collided with the woman, both of them going down like skittles. Instantly Xian Mei and Sam ran forward, bloodied machetes raised, and hacked into their skulls, destroying their brains.
As abruptly as the violence had begun it was over, leaving them with nothing but the shocking aftermath of battle. Sam and Xian Mei stood side by side for a moment, panting and spattered with blood, while behind them Purna clambered gingerly to her feet and limped across to pick up the shotgun she had dropped. As she deftly reloaded despite her bitten hand, Jin, standing alone, dropped the crowbar with a clatter and began to shake and sob. Closing the cartridge chamber of the gun with a click, Purna moved forward and put her arm round Jin’s thin shoulders.
‘Hey,’ she said gently, ‘you did good. You saved my life.’
Jin looked at the carnage around her. ‘That was … horrible,’ she whispered.
Purna nodded. ‘Yes it was. But it’s all over now and they’re at peace.’
Suddenly Sam raised his head. ‘Hey, listen up everyone.’
Despite the constant clang of bells, they heard a rustling and grunting, coming from somewhere in the undergrowth, moving in their direction. It was not close to them, but not too far away either.
‘Let’s move,’ said Purna. ‘But keep alert. Eyes and ears everywhere.’
They moved swiftly uphill, Xian Mei in the lead, Purna limping along with the shotgun and Jin, who was still shaking, just in front of Sam. Closer to the church the vegetation died back a little and they were able to see the building, perched on the side of the hill and overlooking the city below, in all its glory.
In truth, however, despite its imposing location the building itself was not in the best shape. The roof was missing tiles, and many of the interlocking wooden planks that comprised its walls had either warped or rotted. In some places the damage was so bad it had been patched up with tin or corrugated iron, which itself had now gone rusty. Looking at the dilapidated building, it struck Sam that it didn’t seem very defendable. If enough zombies made a concerted effort to get in, they would – he was sure of it.
As they moved across the open patch of scrubby ground towards the sun-scoured but stout-looking main doors of the church, another of the infected crawled out from behind a tombstone and began dragging itself along the ground towards them. This one was an overweight man in his forties wearing a soiled and ripped policeman’s uniform. Half of his face had been torn away and his right leg was a ragged, bleeding stump. Jin put a hand over her mouth and looked away as Xian Mei strode determinedly forward. Standing over the crawling zombie, but taking care not to come within range of its frantically grasping hands, she said, ‘Sorry.’ Then she raised her machete and ruthlessly brought it down.
The others waited for
her to rejoin them before walking up to the church. Purna bashed on the door with the barrel of the shotgun. ‘Hey!’ she shouted. ‘You in there!’
‘We came to see if you needed help!’ called Xian Mei.
They waited less than ten seconds and then one of the two doors creaked slowly open. Purna stepped back, 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 inev
itable. 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. Personally I respect Sister Helen’s beliefs, and I can truly say that my wife Maya and I will be eternally grateful for her kindness, but I happen to think there’s a way out of this – or that even if there isn’t, then that don’t mean we should quit trying to find one. So here’s my proposal: if you guys head back into town to pick up some medication for Mr Owen and enough provisions to keep us going for the next few days, and weapons to defend ourselves with, if needs be, then we’ll show you a way to get better weapons for yourselves – guns, maybe even explosives.’
‘How?’ Purna asked.
Ed indicated the tall handsome man, who had so far said barely a word. ‘Dani here and his brother, Pedro, run a business that sets up security systems for companies and individuals on Banoi – electric fences, CCTV, internal coded locking systems, you name it. And it just so happens that one of their clients is the police, and that a few years ago Dani and Pedro installed a weapons vault in the resort station on the main street.’
Dani nodded. His voice was soft and deep, his English good but strongly accented. ‘I have security codes in here.’ He tapped his head. ‘Inside vault is plenty of weapon for all. If Sister Helen says is OK, I come with you.’
