by David Moody
‘Of course we’re lucky,’ she said. ‘We’re lucky to be here. We’re lucky to have a chance of getting away from all this.’
Clare wasn’t really listening. She nodded and returned her attention to looking out of the window.
‘So are we just going to leave her there?’ she wondered, staring at Harcourt’s body on the ground. ‘Shouldn’t we move her or…?’
The sudden arrival of Cooper and Jackie Soames into the room interrupted the conversation. Emma quickly turned round. She could tell from the expression on both of their faces that they were far from happy.
‘Has anyone seen Keele?’ Soames asked, looking around the room hopefully. Her already red face seemed even redder and more flushed than usual.
Clare shook her head.
‘I saw him earlier,’ Emma volunteered.
‘Do you know where he is now?’
‘No, have you tried the…?’
She didn’t bother to finish her sentence. Soames and Cooper had already turned and were walking away. Donna appeared in the doorway, blocking their way out and stopping them momentarily.
‘Any luck?’ Cooper asked.
‘Not yet,’ she replied. ‘He’s not here then?’
Cooper shook his head.
‘He’s probably hiding in the outbuildings somewhere,’
Jackie Soames suggested. ‘We’ve found him there before, the cowardly bastard.’
Soames and Cooper bustled out of the room again leaving Donna standing alone by the open door. Emma was confused.
‘What the hell’s going on?’
‘Gary Keele’s done a runner,’ Donna explained. ‘We can’t find him.’
‘Why? What’s he running from?’
‘Cooper wants him to try and get the plane moving.’
‘And?’
‘And that’s it. Says he can’t do it. He suffers with his nerves apparently.’
‘Don’t we all?’
Donna smiled.
‘I hate blokes like him, I really do. They’re all bloody talk and no action. Apparently he’s spent the last couple of weeks making noises to some of this lot about how he’s going to be the big hero and fly them all to safety. When it comes to the crunch he’s bottled it.’
‘But he can’t have left the airfield, can he?’
‘Not without getting himself ripped apart or letting a couple of thousand bodies in here he can’t.’
‘So what happens if they can’t get him to fly the plane?’
Clare asked. It was a sensible and obvious question.
‘Then we’ll have to try and get to the island by helicopter I suppose. Lawrence will end up making loads more flights and we’ll be limited on the amount of stuff we can take over with us. We’ll still get there, it’ll just take a lot longer and be more complicated, that’s all.’
‘But what happens if we can’t get…?’ she began.
‘We’ll get there,’ Donna assured her, her voice ominously lacking in conviction.
‘What the hell are you doing in here?’ Phil Croft asked.
Smoking one of his last few precious cigarettes and walking slowly through the shadows between the empty airfield buildings, the limping doctor had stumbled across Keele sitting in the corner of a dark and musty waiting room. By chance he’d spotted him moving as he’d walked past a cobweb-covered window.
Keele didn’t answer at first. He kept still, hoping the doctor would get the message and disappear. Croft’s lack of movement made it obvious that he wasn’t planning on going anywhere.
‘I’m just trying to get some space,’ Keele eventually answered, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him.
‘Christ,’ Croft laughed, ‘the population of this country has been reduced from millions to probably less than a couple of hundred and you’re trying to get some space!
Bloody hell, mate, if you want space there’s plenty of it out there. You don’t need to hide away in here to be on your own.’
‘Just piss off, will you?’
‘Fine.’
Croft glanced out through the window and noticed Cooper and various other people moving from building to building. He quickly put two and two together and reached the obvious conclusion that they were looking for the man he’d just found. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Keele had looked up and was now watching him anxiously.
‘So how long you planning to hide in here for?’ the doctor asked, still looking out of the window.
‘I’m not hiding, I just want to…’
‘Come on, they’re looking for you, aren’t they?’
Keele didn’t want to say anything. He forced himself to spit out an answer.
‘I’m not hiding,’ he mumbled again.
‘Yes you are,’ Croft insisted. ‘So I guess what I heard someone saying last night is true, you’re too scared to fly the plane.’
‘I’m not scared.’
‘Oh, right,’ he sneered. ‘So let me see if I understand what’s going on here. You’re sitting in the dark in the corner of this dusty shithole because you want some space, and you’re not hiding from the others, you’re just choosing not to let them know where you are, is that it?’
‘Piss off,’ Keele hissed again.
‘Keele,’ Croft continued, turning away from the window to face the man in the corner, ‘let me just tell you something, and I want to make sure you understand what I’m saying, okay? I’m a doctor and I’ve spent years looking after other people and making sure they get better when they’re sick. Things have changed now and if I’m completely honest, I’m not that bothered about anyone else anymore. I’m only really interested in myself and I tell you now, you’ll do whatever you have to do to get us out of here or I’ll break your fucking legs…’
‘You don’t…’ Keele began to protest.
‘You will fly the plane to the island because if you don’t I swear I will kill you,’ the doctor said in an unnervingly calm and emotionless voice. ‘I haven’t come this far to have my chances blown by some stupid, cowardly little fucker like you. Understand? Is that clear enough for you?’
Keele didn’t respond.
Croft turned and walked out of the building, slamming the door shut behind him. Still smoking his cigarette he began the slow and painful walk back to the observation tower. He passed Donna on the way.
‘Have you seen…?’ she began to ask.
‘He’s in there,’ he replied, pointing back towards the building he’d just left.
30
Richard Lawrence left Cormansey just after ten o’clock.
The nine survivors who remained on the island stood at the end of the runway and watched the helicopter until its bright lights disappeared and were swallowed up by the grey morning gloom. They hoped that it would return later in the day as planned, bringing with it the plane and at least another fifteen people. Michael hoped that Emma would be one of them.
During the long watch the previous evening and early morning he had managed to convince Stayt and Fry to listen seriously to his concerns about the changing condition of the bodies. So much remained unpredictable and uncertain on the island and it seemed sensible to take action sooner rather than later. Never one for diplomacy, Michael had expressed his opinions in blunt, direct and honest terms to the rest of the small group over breakfast and, apart from some initial nervous reluctance, they had been largely receptive. Stayt had pointed out the immediate practicalities of their situation, and that had proved to be the deciding factor. There were already too many of them to shelter comfortably in the single small cottage any longer and they were going to have to expand into other properties. It made sense to try and get a decent foothold in the village now rather than spend the next few days moving unnecessarily from building to building to building. Better to get the bodies cleared away now. It would make the survivor’s lives immeasurably easier.
Armed with sticks, axes, clubs and blades of varying descriptions, the small group travelled from the cottage towa
rds the village of Danvers Lye in a convoy of two cars and the pickup truck. It seemed to make sense to use several vehicles. The truck would most probably be needed to help dispose of the piles of bodies which would inevitably be accumulated as the day progressed.
This was the first real opportunity since arriving that Michael, Talbot and Guest had had to see anything of the island. It was a bleak, barren and rocky place covered in patchy grass and bracken. The ocean was almost always in view on one side or the other and plumes of cold grey water seemed to constantly be shooting into the air as tall waves crashed against jagged rocks. Trees were few and far between and the wind howled across the weather-beaten landscape. A basic network of rudimentary roads connected the various buildings, most of which were small cottages and houses; some made of old grey stone, others more modern in appearance. There was a farm over on the southwest of the island and he’d seen a few abandoned fishing boats dotted along the shore, but other than that Michael struggled to think what the inhabitants of Cormansey might have done for a living. This land was harsh and unforgiving and life would surely have been difficult at the best of times. Perhaps it was their isolation and distance from the rest of the world that the people who had lived here had craved. Whatever the reason, he thought to himself, it hadn’t done any of them any good.
Despite still wholeheartedly believing in what they were setting out to do, Michael could not help but feel a little uncomfortable, vulnerable and nervous as the village came into view. He stared at the motley collection of unkempt buildings and realised that this was, remarkably, the first time he’d ever gone out actively looking for bodies to destroy in such numbers and it wasn’t a pleasant prospect.
Until now his time had been spent hiding from them or defending himself against them. Although he knew the corpses would probably offer very little in the way of serious resistance, the trepidation he felt was still substantial. And he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.
Some of the other faces around him appeared equally unsettled and unsure.
Michael travelled in the jeep at the front of the convoy with Brigid and Harper. He was hot. The entire group had dressed themselves in boots and gloves and either boiler suits or strong waterproofs taken from the empty homes of long-dead fishermen yesterday morning. The advanced decay of the bodies had now reached such a stage that their destruction, removal and disposal was inevitably going to become a bloody, greasy and gruesome affair. The rotting shells would be ripe with disease. No-one relished the thought of close physical contact with them.
‘Stop here,’ he said when they were just short of the turning onto the road which ran through the heart of Danvers Lye. ‘I think we’re better off leaving the vehicles here. We don’t want to go too far in there and find we’ve got ourselves cut off.’
Brigid stopped the jeep and turned off the engine. The other car pulled up behind her and the truck stopped alongside it. Quietly and nervously the survivors climbed out of their vehicles and regrouped in the middle of the road.
‘So what now? Do we just go marching in there?’
Harper asked. Michael shook his head.
‘No, I don’t think so. Maybe we should take it slow and try and clear the buildings one at a time?’
‘Sounds sensible…’
‘Look,’ Gayle Spencer whispered. She pointed further along the street in front of them, deeper into the shadowy village. Alerted by the sound of the engines, a number of bodies had already dragged themselves out into the open and were moving towards the group with obvious intent.
Harry Stayt readied his sword.
‘We knew there were going to be a few like this, didn’t we?’ he said as he anxiously swapped the blade from hand to hand.
‘We should try and flush these out,’ suggested Fry.
‘What?’
‘All of the bodies that are still reacting like this - we should try making as much noise as we can to bring them out into the open.’
‘Makes sense,’ agreed Brigid. ‘What have you got in mind?’
Fry ducked into the front of the pickup truck and reached across and leant on the horn. The ugly, unexpected noise echoed across the otherwise quiet island, so loud that for a moment it seemed even to silence the relentless sound of the waves crashing against the grey-stone walls of the small harbour just a couple of hundred metres ahead of them.
‘I’ll make a start,’ Stayt muttered under his breath. He began to walk down the road to meet the gangly bodies staggering the other way, his sword gripped tightly in his hand and raised ready to strike. His stomach was churning with nerves.
‘Does anyone else get the impression he enjoys this?’
Harper mumbled. ‘Sick bastard.’
‘At least he’s trying,’ Spencer snapped. ‘We’re just stood here looking at him.’
Michael watched anxiously as the lone survivor neared the first two bodies. Like an expert swordsman (which he clearly was not) he lifted the blade above his head and swung it round in a long and surprisingly graceful arc, managing somehow to effortlessly sever the head of the nearest cadaver. The body crumbled to the ground instantly, its decapitated head thumping down onto the tarmac next to it like a rotten peach. Another flash of the blade and the second corpse was also felled, its head removed with equal speed but far less precision.
‘I’m behind you, Harry,’ Harper shouted as Stayt marched forward with increasing confidence. Harper jogged down the street after his sword-wielding colleague.
He had visions of the other survivor thinking he was a body approaching from behind and turning round and striking out at him with his blade. Ahead of them six more dark figures now were near, and six more figures were almost instantly hacked down. Harper, Michael and Spencer began to collect up the bloody remains of Stayt’s handiwork which lay scattered around the street. Moving quickly they dragged the corpses over to an area of scrub land on the other side of the road and began to pile them up.
The emaciated remains of Cormansey’s most senior police officer lurched at Stayt from behind a wooden fence, knocking him off-balance momentarily. With one gloved hand he pushed the body away, sending it stumbling backwards. It tripped over the twitching torso of another dead islander and fell to the ground. Seizing the opportunity Stayt lifted his sword and chopped down at the corpse, slicing the top of its head clean off, following through and hitting the ground. He winced as the vibration of the impact of the sword on the hard tarmac travelled the length of his tired arms. Breathless he moved onto the next body and then the next and then the next, driven on by a curious combination of adrenaline and revulsion. Fry and Brigid stood together and watched from a distance, listening as Stayt’s blade whistled and sliced through the cold October air.
‘That’s it, Harry,’ Harper shouted. Suddenly aware that the clumsy movement around him had stopped, Stayt stood still and looked up and down the street. The previously unremarkable grey scene was now awash with blood and gore and fallen corpses. That seemed to be all of them for now. He couldn’t see any other moving bodies.
‘Can’t see any more of them’ Michael shouted to him.
Stayt lowered his sword.
‘So where are all the others?’ he asked, still looking around. ‘This can’t be it, surely. We were expecting about a hundred of them at least.’
Michael walked over to where the other man stood, staring into the shadowy buildings on either side of the street as he moved slowly along.
‘Theoretically they could be all over the island.’
‘You reckon?’
Michael shook his head.
‘Probably not. I think they’re mostly still round here. I think they’re hiding from us.’
‘Really?’
‘I think they’re keeping out of the way because they heard us arrive and they’ve seen you in action with that bloody sword.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ Stayt laughed. ‘Are you serious? They’re not hiding from us.’
Michael continued to stare into
one of the nearby buildings.
‘Well some of them are,’ he replied, pointing into a glass-fronted shop little more than five metres away.
‘Look.’
Christ, he thought, Michael was right. Stayt could see bodies gathered inside the building. They seemed almost to be cowering and trying to keep out of sight. The door to the shop was open so they weren’t trapped. What the hell was going on?
‘So what do we do now?’
Michael shrugged his shoulders.
‘Go in and get them out I suppose. Don’t see what else there is we can do.’
The two men stood in silence and looked at each other for a moment, both waiting for the other to make the first move. Michael was momentarily distracted by a sudden burst of light and noise which came from the scrubland behind them. Brigid had doused the pile of bodies with fuel and had set light to them. Bright orange flames pierced the grey gloom.
‘That should drag a few more of them out into the open,’ he grumbled.
‘There are only a couple of them in that building over there,’ Stayt said quietly, lifting his sword again and pointing across the road at a butcher’s shop. He could see at least two dark figures shuffling behind the racks and displays still piled high with the remains of massively decayed and rancid, maggot-ridden meat.
‘Let’s just see what happens,’ Michael whispered and he slowly began to walk towards the shop. Stayt followed close behind. As they neared the bodies they began to move. Unexpectedly they seemed to be retreating further back into the shadows.
‘Do you think they’re territorial?’ he asked. Michael shook his head.
‘What, you think that’s what’s left of the butcher and his wife?’ he answered, semiseriously.
‘No,’ Stayt scowled, ‘that’s not what I meant. I just wonder if they’re aware of their surroundings? Are they really just keeping out of our way or are they standing their ground? Are they just sheltering in there?’
