Purification a-3

by David Moody

  Lawrence opened the door to his side and climbed out onto the runway. Immediately being blown about by the wind, he quickly yanked the back door open to let the others out. As he stepped down onto the tarmac Michael saw that a pair of bright headlights was moving along the length of the airstrip towards them. As the vehicle approached he could see that it was a strong, modern-looking jeep. It stopped a short distance away from where the helicopter had landed. A large, stocky woman climbed out of the driver’s seat.

  ‘You okay, Richard?’ the woman asked. ‘Good flight over?’

  ‘Not bad,’ he replied. ‘How’ve things been here?’

  ‘Quiet,’ she answered, raising her voice slightly so that she could make herself heard over the wind. ‘Quieter than I’d expected it to be, actually.’

  The woman looked at the three men standing slightly behind Lawrence. The movement of her eyes and the expression on her face prompted the pilot to quickly introduce them.

  ‘Brigid, this is Michael, Peter and Danny.’

  The group nodded and mumbled tired and subdued acknowledgments as they struggled to stand their ground against the wind.

  ‘New faces?’

  ‘This lot joined us yesterday,’ he explained. ‘Remember I told you about the journey we did over here a couple of days back when we saw that crowd of bodies? That was these guys. They’d been holed-up for a while in some military base or other. Had some trouble and ended up having to make a break for it…’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Guest interrupted.

  ‘…Karen and I managed to track them down.’

  Michael stood next to the helicopter with his arms folded across his chest, looking around anxiously and only half-listening to the conversation. He felt uneasy. It wasn’t just the grim conditions and unfamiliar surroundings that concerned him, he felt on edge because of the fact that they were standing out in the open, exposed and defenceless.

  Were there really so few bodies around here that it didn’t matter? And what had the woman meant when she’d said they’d been quieter than expected?

  ‘Come on,’ shouted Brigid, ‘let’s get inside.’

  The survivors began to unload their bags and supplies from the back of the helicopter and threw them into the jeep as Lawrence secured the aircraft. Disorientated and slow to react, the three new arrivals squeezed uncomfortably into the back of the vehicle. Their senses suddenly overloaded with questions, emotions, random thoughts and sheer mental exhaustion, they sat in collective silence as Brigid started the jeep, turned it around and drove back down the runway.

  ‘Been keeping yourself busy, Brig?’ Lawrence asked.

  ‘I always do,’ she replied. ‘Anyway, what about you?

  Everything all right back on the mainland?’

  ‘Okay,’ he answered, ‘pretty much the same as when you left really. There are a few more of us now, that’s all.’

  ‘You going to be able to get Keele to fly that plane over here soon?’

  ‘I bloody well hope so. I’m sick of doing all the donkey work. Christ, the number of times I’ve flown backwards and forwards between the airfield and this bloody island…’

  ‘Don’t make it sound like such an ordeal,’ she laughed, leaning forward and wiping condensation from the windscreen with the back of her hand. ‘You love it when you’re here.’

  ‘I do,’ he agreed. ‘It’s going back to that dead place that I can’t handle.’

  A narrow dirt track curved away from the end of the airstrip and disappeared between two low, dune-like hills.

  Brigid drove onto the rough track and followed it round to the right. Sandwiched uncomfortably between Guest and Talbot, Michael looked out through the windscreen and could see that they were getting closer to the billowing cloud of smoke he’d seen from the other end of the runway.

  He was about to ask where they were going when they rounded another corner and pulled up behind the whitewashed cottage which had been visible from the air when they’d come in to land. A short, athletic-looking man was stood outside, pumping up the tyres of another car. He stopped what he was doing and looked up as the jeep approached.

  ‘Home,’ Brigid said as she turned off the engine. ‘What you doing, Richard? Coming in or going straight back?’

  ‘I’m knackered. I’ve told the others I’m stopping here tonight,’ he answered. ‘There’s not a lot of point trying to get back today. I’ll wait until morning. I’d rather stay here anyway.’

  Once Guest had moved Michael was able to clamber out of the jeep. He stretched his legs. Although short and over quickly, the journey had been cramped and uncomfortable.

  The man who had been working on the other car walked over to him and held out his hand. Michael shook it.

  ‘Harry Stayt,’ the man said brightly. ‘How you doing?’

  ‘Good,’ he replied, still a little subdued. ‘I’m Michael.

  This looks like quite a place you’ve found here. I didn’t think that I’d get to see anywhere like this again…’

  To his embarrassment Michael found that talking coherently had suddenly become ridiculously difficult. This was such a quiet, ordinary and unremarkable place and yet he was struggling to take everything in. It wasn’t the location that had affected him and it wasn’t the physical appearance of the island (which was very different to the decayed land he’d left behind). It was the atmosphere and the attitude of the people he’d so far met that had taken him by surprise. They seemed to be amazingly relaxed and at ease. They were outside, talking freely, unconcerned by the level of their voices and not looking constantly over their shoulders.

  ‘I tell you,’ Stayt said, ‘this place is the business. As soon as we got here I knew it. Once we get it cleared up and get everyone else out here we’ll be set up for life.’

  Michael didn’t answer. Instead he just stood still and listened and breathed in the air. Apart from the occasional waft of smoke from the fire nearby everything smelled relatively pure and fresh. The sickly stench of death and decay so prevalent across the rest of the world had much less of an impact here. It was still there, but it was weaker and more diffuse than he was used to. In comparison to the heavy, suffocating, disease-ridden air he had become used to breathing, the air on the island was the purest he could ever remember tasting.

  ‘Is there much left to do?’ he asked, finally responding to Stayt’s earlier comment.

  ‘Not really,’ he replied. ‘All that’s left now is the big one.’

  ‘The big one?’

  ‘Danvers Lye.’

  ‘What the hell’s that?’

  ‘The village. They have told you, haven’t they? We’re going to clear the village.’

  ‘They told us about it. When?’

  ‘Next couple of days probably. We might even try and make a start tomorrow now there’s a few more of us here.’

  Michael became aware of the sound of another engine approaching. He took a few steps to his right to look around the side of the cottage and saw that a road stretched out away from the front of the building. A pickup truck was moving quickly towards them. The truck drove past the cottage and carried on towards the source of the smoke a short distance away.

  ‘Who’s that?’ he asked.

  ‘Bruce Fry and Jim Harper,’ Stayt answered. ‘They’ve been cleaning up.’

  ‘Cleaning up?’

  Stayt nodded his head in the direction in which the truck had been travelling. Michael followed him as he walked towards another low hill. He heard the sound of the engine stop as they climbed up to the top of the gentle rise. Below them was a natural hollow, the base of which had been filled with a smouldering bonfire. The truck had stopped on the other side of the dip.

  ‘It’s the only sensible way of doing this really,’ Stayt explained as they watched the two men climb out of the truck.

  ‘Doing what?’

  Fry and Harper, dressed in protective boiler suits, got out of the truck and walked round to the back, acknowledging Stayt and Micha
el when they noticed them watching. With rough, gloved hands they began to drag bodies from a pile on the back of the vehicle and then threw them unceremoniously onto the flames.

  ‘These are mostly the ones we’ve found lying around.

  We’ve got rid of about thirty of them so far,’ Stayt explained as he turned round and began to walk back towards the cottage, ‘only another few hundred to go.

  Actually, they burn pretty well.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Easier to chop up than firewood too,’ he laughed as he walked away. ‘I can see us sitting in front of the fire in winter with a basket of arms and legs to burn instead of logs!’

  ‘Sick bastard,’ Michael muttered. He wasn’t relaxed enough yet to appreciate Stayt’s humour. He stood and watched the fire for a short while longer, staring deep into the flames. It was difficult to see exactly what was burning, but he could definitely make out charred bones (skulls, hands and feet were particularly distinct) and scraps of partially burned clothing around the edges of the pyre. He turned and followed Stayt back to the others.

  ‘There are six of you here, aren’t there?’ he asked, jogging to try and catch up with the other man.

  ‘That’s right,’ Stayt answered.

  ‘So where are the other two, in the cottage?’

  ‘No, they’re out. They’ll be back in a while. They’re scouting around somewhere.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Just checking the place over. Don’t forget we’ve not been here that long,’ he said, waiting by the back door of the small building. The rest of the group had already gone inside. ‘We’ve managed to get quite a bit done, but we wanted to get a little more muscle behind us before we tried anything too risky.’

  ‘Risky?’ Michael repeated as he followed him into the dark kitchen of the cottage. The room was cramped and cluttered and the ceiling low. He could see Talbot and Guest sitting in an equally gloomy living room talking to Lawrence and Brigid. ‘Bloody hell,’ he sighed, ‘isn’t everything risky now?’

  ‘We’ve just been taking things steady,’ he continued to explain. ‘We need to be completely sure of what we’re doing before we do anything we might regret.’

  Puzzled, Michael walked into the living room. Although as dull and poorly lit as the kitchen, the room was dry and relatively warm and was considerably more inviting and appealing than pretty much anywhere else he’d been in the last two months. It still didn’t feel right, standing in full view of the rest of the world like this and talking without a care as if nothing had ever happened. He felt nervous and on edge. What if there were bodies nearby?

  ‘You okay?’ Lawrence asked.

  Michael nodded.

  ‘Fine,’ he replied. ‘I’m just a little…’

  ‘Tired?’

  He shook his head and struggled to think of the right word to properly express how he was feeling.

  ‘Disorientated.’

  ‘You’ll get used to it,’ Brigid smiled. ‘It doesn’t take long.’

  Michael sat down on a comfortable armchair next to an unlit fire. Christ, it felt good to be able to sit down like this, he thought. He leant back and stretched his legs out in front of him as he looked around at the others who were continuing to talk. At first he was content to sit and listen without taking an active part in the discussion. He’d been too active for too long now.

  After a couple of minutes the conversation changed direction and tone. Another car pulled up outside and the final two survivors entered the cottage, introducing themselves to the new arrivals as Tony Hyde and Gayle Spencer. The two of them (the inhabitants of the island had been travelling in pairs since first arriving) had been out on something of a reconnaissance mission all afternoon.

  They’d driven to the outskirts of Danvers Lye to check out the situation in readiness for the cleaning-up operation that was inevitably going to begin at some point in the next few days. They’d explained that they had been able to get closer to the village than they’d expected. Michael was confused.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said, looking up at Hyde and Spencer who were sitting on a dusty sofa opposite him.

  ‘How did you manage to get anywhere near the village, and why were you risking your necks out there anyway? Surely the bodies would have reacted to you just being that close to them…’

  He stopped speaking. Spencer was shaking her head.

  ‘We were hoping you might be able to shed a little light on this.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘We thought you might have seen something similar happening where you were.’

  ‘Something like what?’ Peter Guest snapped, becoming nervous again.

  ‘We think some of the bodies here are changing.’

  ‘Changing?’ he exclaimed, immediately concerned.

  ‘What do you mean, changing?’

  ‘We noticed it yesterday,’ she continued. ‘Brigid, Bruce and I were the first to get here on Saturday. When we first arrived everything seemed pretty much as we expected, we only had to cough and most of the bodies that were near started swarming around us.’

  ‘So what’s changed?’ pressed Michael. ‘What’s different now?’

  ‘When we got up yesterday we were expecting to have been surrounded by bodies because of the noise we’d made and the fire and we’d pretty much decided to play it that way so that we could try and get rid of a few of them. We figured we might as well try and draw them out gradually… you know, bring them to us rather than us running around after them? Anyway, when we got outside there were only a handful of them about. We got rid of them quickly and we assumed that the rest just hadn’t managed to make it over to this side of the island yet.’

  Hyde took over the story.

  ‘Mid-morning, three of us drove over to the village. We just wanted to see what we were up against and get an idea of what we needed to do to make the place safe. We stopped the car at the end of the main street and waited.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Now this is the weird part,’ Spencer continued. ‘The bloody things weren’t reacting to us. At least, they weren’t reacting how we thought they would. Some of them did and they came straight for us, but others stayed out of the way.

  We managed to get a little closer and we could see them. It was like they were waiting for us.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me, we could see them waiting in the shadows and inside buildings that had been left open, generally keeping out of our way.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Hyde sighed. ‘Christ, we didn’t want to get too close. The last thing we wanted to do was antagonise them.’

  ‘Antagonise them? So you don’t think these things are about to roll over and give up?’

  Brigid shook her head.

  ‘So what has happened to them?’ Peter Guest asked.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about this a lot,’ she said. The other people gathered in the room turned to listen to her, giving her their undivided attention. ‘I don’t know what the rest of you have seen, but I’ve watched these things changing since the day they first got up and started walking round again. In the beginning they were just able to move, then they could hear and see, then they became more aggressive and now it looks like they’ve started to…’

  ‘Think?’ Michael anticipated.

  Brigid thought for a moment.

  ‘I suppose you’re right. They’ve gained another level of control. It’s a logical progression, if any of this is logical.’

  Michael looked around the room.

  ‘I’ve talked to other people about this before now,’ he said. ‘We’ve seen something similar happening, but not to the extent you’re talking about. We’ve got a doctor with us and he said to me that he thinks their brains have survived the infection. It’s like they’re gradually coming round again, despite the fact that their bodies are falling apart. It’s like they’ve been sedated with drugs that are taking months to wear off.’


  ‘That’s good then, isn’t it?’ Guest said. His mouth was dry and he swallowed hard before speaking again.

  ‘Problem solved, eh? If they’re going to be able to think and control themselves, then they’re not going to be a threat to us, are they? They’ll see it’s not a fair contest and just sit there and rot.’

  ‘Possibly,’ Michael cautiously responded, ‘but I don’t think that them being a threat to us is the issue anymore.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’ve believed all along that the bodies had been driven by instinct. It’s like they’re being motivated and controlled at the most basic level. Each time there’s been a noticeable change in their behaviour, it’s as if they’ve gained another layer of self-awareness.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Guest complained.

  ‘Have you seen how they sometimes fight with each other?’ he asked. Various heads nodded back at him. ‘It always seems to be completely random and unprovoked and without reason, doesn’t it? But have you ever stopped and wondered why they do it? What have they got to gain from fighting? There’s no class or status or other division among them, is there? They don’t eat, they don’t want shelter, they don’t fight for food or possessions.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ Brigid asked. ‘Why do you think they do it?’

  ‘I think their fighting is nothing to do with wanting, because they have no obvious desires. I think the only thing they’re left fighting for is survival. They’re fighting just to continue to exist. It’s self-preservation.’

  ‘I don’t buy any of this,’ Guest whined. ‘Listen to yourself, will you? Can you hear what you’re saying? Can you hear how…?’

  ‘What I’m saying,’ Michael added, unfazed by Guest’s outburst and with his voice ominously serious, ‘is that the bodies aren’t a threat to us, it’s more that they’re beginning to see us as a threat to them. And if they really are driven by instinct, then they’ll do whatever they have to do to make sure they continue to survive.’

  27

  Kelly Harcourt