Island of the Dead

by Aline Riva

  Stacy made a run for it but fell, as she tried to get up the creature was on her, its teeth bared as it ripped out her throat and blood ran like a river...

  It's my fault, were the words that came to mind, then she blinked, took in a breath and sharply reminded herself that the past was gone. Even though she had pulled back from it, she still felt shaken and uneasy, as if being here and hearing the mention of Stacy from the lips of her son had somehow triggered the memory to reanimate, like something long buried was rising from the grave just like that oil covered corpse that had torn Stacy apart in front of her five years before.

  “No, no,” she whispered, “Don't start again, not now...”

  Then she left the kitchen to go and join Greg, hoping her secret unwanted thoughts did not reflect in her eyes as she trembled and the flashback lingered and silently haunted her.

  It was nightfall by the time Parsons made his visit to the infirmary. Christian had been working on the corpse all day and now the door to the isolation room was locked and he stood in the lab, looking in surprise through the round lenses of his glasses as the community leader instructed him to be ready to leave in the morning.

  “But I'm needed here, Parsons!” Christian exclaimed, “My research is going well! I'm seeing cellular changes with infusion of human blood into her system. I don't know yet if the virus is weakening but she's almost a living shade now! And if I went to Raven with you and got myself killed, what about the rest of the people here on the island? I'm the only doctor!”

  “And Raven Isle could have sickness. They might be in trouble. We need to approach with the hand of friendship before we resort to heavy tactics. They may not be aggressive. I doubt a small isle would start a war.”

  Christian ran his fingers through his hair and looked to the isolation room.

  “Alright,” he said, “I'll come with you. I think if I give her a heavy dose of sedation and have it running on a twenty four hour feed mixed with blood, it should be enough to keep her quiet and contained...I don't want her struggling under restraint, it could cause damage.”

  “Just do what you have to do,”Parsons ordered,” I want you ready on the dock at sunrise. Bring a medical kit too.”

  “Fine,” Christian replied, answering through gritted teeth as he looked away and back to the door of the room where his experiment was strapped to the table. Parsons left the room and walked off down the corridor. Now he was alone again, Christian gave a sigh of frustration and went back to the door, unlocked it and went inside, closing it behind him, finally alone once more with Lillith, the undead woman who he was reluctant to abandon. He stood beside the table as he looked down at her and intensity came to his gaze as he reached down and ran his hand over her hair. The corpse snapped her teeth and glared up him, dead white eyes meeting his gaze with a look he could not translate.

  “I think you'll be just fine here alone,” he murmured, “I'm going to put you to sleep for a while...don't worry...I won't be gone long...” Then he went over to a table in the corner of the room and started searching for appropriate medication, all the while resentment was growing at the thought of leaving Lillith alone – she was his experiment, and mattered more to Christian than the lives of a few islanders on Raven, but he knew he would have a tough time explaining that to Parsons, so there was no choice in the matter – he would have to leave her unattended and hope for the best...

  Chapter 4

  When morning came, light rain fell before the sun broke through and the sea breeze chased away the clouds. It left a slight chill in the air, perhaps felt more by those who were leaving than those who stayed behind. Emma and the others departing for the mainland took the fishing boat, while the smaller boat was taken by Parsons and his chosen crew, bound for Raven Isle.

  Many of the islanders had gathered at the dock to watch the crews departure, among them, Serena had been at the front of the gathering, after bidding a fond farewell to her husband. Greg and Vicki stood with Zodiac watching from the edge of the crowd, Greg had waved to Marc and he had waved back. Now the two boats had left, cutting through the water as they headed off in opposite directions, one for the neighbouring island and the other, for the dangerous shores of the mainland, where the dead outnumbered the living...

  As the fishing boat headed inland, Adrian had the wheel as the two women stood on deck, looking to the distant shore line.

  “It's going to feel strange to go back,” Clare said as she set her sights on land, “And I don't mean because we're likely to have to shoot a few of those things to get where we need to go...I mean, it's not like really going home, is it? Home has gone. It's a changed land.”

  Emma leant against the side of the boat, watching the water as the vessel cut through calm sea. The sun was shining and the beach was slowly looming closer. From this distance it looked like a strip of pale yellow and there was not a stumbling creature on the horizon, at least not yet... She cast a glance to the weaponry on the other side of the deck. They were all wearing holstered hand guns and the machine guns were loaded on the boat and ready. They had enough ammo. This should not be too difficult – as long as there wasn't a horde waiting when they reached shore...

  “Not long to go,” Emma murmured as the shores of the mainland loomed closer.

  The second boat was racing through the water, cutting through waves and leaving a trail of froth in its wake as the vessel sped towards the Isle of Raven. Parsons was driving, Christian sat in silence, uneasy and watching intently as they grew closer to the shore.

  “I'll take us in as far as we can go,” he said, “There's a small docking area around the other side – the only part without fencing. I think we should take the boat to the shallows, haul it to shore and then walk until we find a way in - I don't trust the main entrance. I don't doubt that's where they have armed guards posted – if they have guards.”

  “You think they'll shoot first and ask questions later?” Marc wondered.

  Parsons glanced back at him.

  “Maybe.”

  The boat was heading into shallow water now, the vessel dropped speed and as they coasted in, following the roll of the surf and drifting seaweed, Parsons killed the engine. He was the first out of the boat, followed by Marc and then Christian as the three men waded to shore, dragging the boat on to the sand, then to higher ground where plant life and trees grew in thick abundance. One final shove covered the boat beneath a low hanging tree bough, then the three men turned from the boat, pausing to catch their breath as Christian took the medical bag from the vessel. As they turned from the beach and headed towards a dirt track that led through the woodland, Parsons took the lead.

  “Fencing is visible from the other side of the isle,” he said, “I'm guessing because that's the side that faces the mainland...a few years back the houses were visible from the other side, old falling down places, long abandoned. When I purchased Wolfsheer I took a look at this place... turned it down because the land mass was too small. But those houses could be lived in – I guess there's enough desperate people about these days.”

  They paused, coming to a stop by high wooden fencing that ran concealed along the length of the treeline. Marc looked left and right, saw nothing but panels and foliage but the sunlight shone through the gaps in the boughs above, there was little shade here and clearly no one was about to jump out thanks to lack of hiding space, but all the same he was ready to raise his gun at the slightest movement.

  “So now what?” Christian demanded, “What are we going to do, walk the circumference of the fencing and end up at the main entrance? That could take all day. I need to be back on the island quickly! And has it occurred to either of you that maybe who ever lived here has since moved on? It would have been a harsh winter living here in derelict buildings!”

  Parsons and Marc glanced back at him.

  “It would have seemed like a five star hotel compared to running for their lives on the mainland,” Parsons reminded him, “Everyone alive is in search of a safe haven these
days.”

  Just then a twig snapped underfoot and the three men turned sharply as they were confronted by a stranger who wore long, ragged clothing. Her hair hung to her waist in a shade of purple and as she aimed the rifle she set her sights on the trespassers. The sea breeze shifted her faded summer dress making the worn and faded daisies dance on the fabric. Not one man had failed to notice the dress was almost sheer and as sunlight escaped in, it was impossible to not notice she was naked beneath it. She smiled, her sun kissed face glowing with warmth as she eyed them closely.

  “Put down your guns, gentlemen... No need for trouble here. We are simply a small group of survivors like yourselves... “

  She made the first gesture by lowering her weapon, then leaving it to hang on the shoulder strap she wore as Parsons and then the others laid their guns on the ground.

  “I'm Damson,” she said, “You need to come with me and meet Mr Shadowbone.”

  Then she walked towards a panel that had been shifted aside. She paused and glanced back.

  “Come on,then!” she said playfully.

  The three men exchanged glances, guessing maybe this was some kind of weird hippy community, but certainly not a threat, and then they followed, as she led the way through barrier.

  “How long have you lived here?”

  As Christian asked that question, they were heading through a clearing and towards an old street with houses in various states of disrepair, they had once been painted white but the paintwork was cracked and peeling. Here and there windows were partially broken and faded curtains flapped like ghosts in the breeze. Doors began to open, up and down the small street men and women began to emerge, some in faded clothing, others wore better kept attire, but all watched silently as they made their way down the street.

  Marc looked about, sensing a strange hostility from the people of the isle. A young woman in a sheer beach garment and nothing beneath it came out of a house where the door was permanently held open on failing hinges by a pile of bricks. Her hair was dark and fell to her shoulders and her face was pale. Her eyes were heavily lined with black eyeliner and a pentacle was etched in the same pencil on her cheek. Her lips were painted black. She smiled and headed towards Damson.

  “We have visitors?”

  “Indeed we do,” she replied, “Shadowbone needs to meet and greet these people.”

  “Excuse me... I said, how long have you lived here?” Christian asked again. As he spoke his gaze shifted from Damson to the other woman as he took in the sight of her obvious nudity beneath the sheer, short beach wear that was in a shade of dark grey.

  “My name is Raven,” the woman said, “I took my new name from this isle when we first arrived a few years back... we saw your colony but decided it wasn't for us. You see, we all took new names when the new world was born. This is the new world – the dead rule the earth now. We must find a new place to live and a new way to live. Our way was to choose this isle.”

  “Were you travellers?” Marc wondered.

  “We all became travellers when the dead arose,” Raven replied, then she walked up to him, placing her hand on his chest and her touch felt cool through the fabric of his vest.

  “You are the leader of your people?” she asked.

  “No, I am the leader,” replied Parsons, and she turned to him with interest in her gaze as he spoke again, “My name is Parsons. I am the community leader over on Wolfsheer – it was my community before the dead arose. We've managed to keep the place going very well. The purpose of this visit is to extend the hand of friendship, to offer assistance if any is needed – and to discuss possible trade.”

  Damson ran her fingers through her purple hair as she thought on all he had said.

  “Shadowbone rules us all. We have men who do supply runs now and then, when we need extra food and medicine... But I think he will be very pleased to meet with you, Parsons.”

  Then she and Damson began to walk on and the three men followed, all the while they were aware of the stares of the locals who stood there watching as they reached the end of the street. They turned a corner on to another road, this led down a lane towards a large house of aged Victorian brick. Roof tiles were missing here and there and the paint was peeling, some of the windows had cracks but the house had fared well considering the years stood up to the elements.

  “This is the main house,” Damson said, then as Marc lagged behind, pausing to look down a pathway that led around the side of the house, her tone became sharper.

  “Not out the back! That's private! This way, through the front door, if you please!”

  “Sorry,” Marc said politely, and as the women went in ahead of them and spoke to an armed guard who stepped aside and lowered his weapon, Christian smirked as he glanced back at Marc and Parsons.

  “Do as they say, guys...I have no intention of falling out with these people. I'll go anywhere these semi naked women want to lead us!”

  “What do you think?” Marc murmured to Parsons as they entered a hallway where chandeliers hung above caked in dust and the aged wallpaper darkened the gloom in a shade of brown.

  Parsons looked down at the worn carpet and then to the cracked walls, noticing a pentagram had been etched on one side in what looked like red paint.

  “I think when civilisation breaks down it rebuilds in some weird ways,” Parsons remarked.

  Marc glanced at the wall and then looked away, shaking his head.

  “So there's some kind of witchcraft symbol on the wall... it's nothing to be worried about.”

  Damson and Raven opened double doors at the end of the hall and the men were led into a large dining area where a man sat at the head of the table, he looked youthful and his dark hair hung about his face as he sat reading from a book. He was dressed in black and his leather trousers were faded and scuffed. On both hands he wore silver rings, some had dark stones in shades of red and burnt orange, but the ring that stood out most noticeably was a silver goat head symbol set in a circle. His face was pale and as he looked up from his book he cast his light blue eyes over the newcomers with interest.

  “We have visitors from Wolfsheer,”announced Damson.

  “I am Shadowbone, welcome to Raven Isle,” he said, gesturing to the table, “Please, sit down.”

  Marc sat beside Parsons and Christian took the seat on the other side of the table, now they were clustered around the place where Shadowbone sat and he smiled as he greeted them.

  “Introductions can wait...” he glanced to the two women who stood in the doorway,” Damson, Raven... fetch these gentlemen some hot tea.”

  “Yes, Mr Shadowbone,” Raven replied, exchanging a smile and a glance with Damson, then the two women left the room.

  Now Shadowbone looked to the men with great interest.

  “Nice to meet you, I am Shadowbone, I run this community... we are small and closed off, this is why we have never reached out to you. We came a long way by ourselves and chose to stay independent. But trade is a welcome offer indeed.”

  “I'm glad you feel that way. I'm Parsons,” he gestured to his companions, “This is Marc and this is Christian, he's a doctor. I brought him along in case any of your people were sick.”

  Shadowbone smiled.

  “We enjoy surprisingly good health here.”

  “What's your secret?” Christian said in surprise.

  “We eat well,” Shadowbone replied.

  Christian and Marc said nothing else as Parsons took up the conversation, speaking of trade and telling the tale of how Wolfsheer became such a successful island, building a community even the living dead could not destroy. While he spoke, Shadowbone listened, and then the conversation was interrupted by Raven returning with a tray. She carried it to the table and set down mugs of tea before the visitors, then placed a jug of milk and a bowl of sugar on the table.

  “For you,Mr Shadowbone?” she asked.

  “I started the morning with coffee,” he replied with a smile, “I'll pass for now. And thank you, Raven. I
shall be sure to call you back when our new friends decide on lunch.”

  As she left the room, Christian spoke up.

  “We are here to talk trade and then leave – I'm sorry, but I'm the only doctor on Wolfsheer and I really hate to be away for too long in case I'm needed.”

  Parsons shot him a glance, and he read it right: He had been told to shut the hell up.

  “Trade talks come first,” Parsons said to Shadowbone, then he sipped his tea.

  “I don't think I've tasted tea this good since before the world changed!”

  Marc drank some too.

  “It is good,” he agreed.

  Christian lifted his mug, drinking down the tea as he silently hoped this meeting would not drag on as his thoughts turned to his lab and the experiment contained inside it.

  Parsons was talking about supplies and how the community had plenty of spare produce. His voice was becoming distant. Marc was slumping and then sat up straight, blinking tired eyes as he wondered why he suddenly felt so exhausted. Then as he looked to Christian his image blurred. Christian placed his hands on the table heavily, struggling to keep his head raised.

  “I think...I'm going to pass out...”

  Parsons looked in alarm to Marc, who was leaning back in his seat, his eyes slowly closing. Christian tried to stand, scraping the chair back loudly. He got up, swaying as if drunk and crashed to the floor.

  “What's the meaning of this?” Parsons demanded in confusion as his head began to spin.

  Shadowbone's face loomed closer, distorted as if seen though a fish eye lens as the drugged tea began to take hold and his voice sounded as if he spoke underwater:

  “You've all been drugged,” he informed him, “You see, we have our own ways here. When I said we eat well, I meant, we eat those we capture on the mainland. We also eat trespassers... We are an island of cannibals, Mr Parsons.”