Dead Island

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 lowlying, 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 rage, 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.

‘Hell no. In light of the situation I’d settle for grits and a soda.’

Purna snorted a laugh.

They knew they were nearing the main street when the ground rose abruptly, curving away from the sea. Suddenly the path became a set of stone steps, caged on both sides by a waist-high chain-link fence.

‘We need to be extra vigilant from now on,’ Purna said. ‘Try not to get hemmed in anywhere.’

‘Like here you mean?’ said Sam, eyeing the surrounding foliage nervously.

‘We don’t have much choice here,’ said Purna. ‘Let’s just move quickly and stay alert.’

They hurried up the steps, weapons at the ready. Near the top they heard the sound of voices. Sam raised a hand and they paused a moment, listening.

It sounded like two men talking, though what Sam, Purna and Xian Mei found puzzling was that they were making no attempt to keep their voices low. However, although the voices were loud, they had a muffled quality to them, indicating they were indoors rather than out in the open.

‘What the hell is—’ Sam began, then they all heard a sound that answered the question he was about to ask: canned laughter.

‘It’s a TV show,’ Xian Mei said.

Sam frowned. ‘But who’d be watching TV at a time like this?’

‘Maybe someone who has no idea what’s happening,’ Purna suggested.

‘Then I guess we ought to tell them,’ said Sam, ‘before they find out the hard way.’

The blaring of the TV grew louder as they ascended the last dozen steps. Though the infected had probably had hours to check out the noise, it still made all three of them nervous to be so close to something that could potentially attract attention. The top of the steps opened out into a back yard, behind what Sam guessed was one of the buildings lining the long main street. From what he had seen of them, the bars, restaurants and retail outlets were not only crammed together in a jumble of shapes and sizes and styles, but they were also in various states of repair, as if the street had grown up organically, rather than being planned as a tourist-serving fait accompli from the outset.

This particular building was a shabby clapboard affair sandwiched between two taller and more austere edifices constructed of steel, glass and polished wood. Ominously there was an overturned dustbin in the yard, spewing rubbish, and the screen door at the back was half open. A narrow alley to the left of the building provided access to and from the main street.

‘This doesn’t look good,’ said Xian Mei.

Sam glanced at her. ‘Think we should check it out?’

‘It would probably be foolish,’ said Purna.

‘But?’ said Sam.

She sighed. ‘But if someone is in there, oblivious to what’s happening …’

Sam nodded. ‘They might as well be banging a dinner gong.’

He took the lead, crossing the yard quickly. At the screen door he paused and knocked.

‘Hey,’ he called softly. ‘Anyone in here?’

There was no reply.

‘I’m going in,’ he said. ‘And before you say it, yeah, I’ll be careful.’

‘I’m coming too,’ said Purna.

Sam frowned. ‘Someone should stay out here in case of visitors.’

Xian Mei pulled an ‘oh well’ face and shrugged, as if she had drawn the short straw.

‘Yell if you need us,’ Purna said, placing a hand briefly on Xian Mei’s arm, then she slipped into the building behind Sam.

If this was a store of some kind, then it didn’t seem like it from the back. Clearly the rear of the building was given over to living quarters, indicating that this was a home as much as a place of work. The first room they entered was a kitchen, modest and shabby, but also clean and neat. There was nothing out of place here, nothing to indicate that anything untoward had been happening.

The blaring TV was located somewhere deeper in the house. Sam and Purna crossed the room swiftly to the inner door, Sam placing his ear against it to see if he could make out any other sounds. Unable to do so, he glanced at Purna and she nodded. He opened the door, gritting his teeth against the creak it made, and stepped through quickly, looking every which way to assess the terrain. The TV was now so loud that Sam was able to tell which show was playing — it was a rerun of Friends. He even recognized the episode; it was the one where Ross and Rachel get married in Vegas after drinking themselves insensible.

The noise of the TV was coming from a room beyond an open door to their right. In the centre of the opposite wall was another door, closed and with a key in the lock. Sam guessed that this one must lead into the retail/public area at the front of the building. The left-hand wall was dominated by a narrow wooden staircase stretching upwards into shadows. Sam moved forward, but stopped after a couple of seconds when Purna put a hand on his arm.

‘What is it?’ he hissed.

‘I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that if there were any infected in there you’d hear them moving about.’

Sam said nothing. That had been what he’d been thinking, but he waited for her to go on.

‘But just remember,’ she said, ‘that although the infected are probably not cunning enough to set traps, people are. And in situations like this people get desperate.’

Sam couldn’t imagine why anyone would deliberately want to draw attention to themselves, but he nodded nevertheless. ‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘I won’t get sloppy.’

He slid along the wall to the open door and peered into the room beyond. He couldn’t see much. The curtains were closed and it was still a little too early for daylight to seep in and make much of an impact. The constantly flickering gleam from the TV made what he could see shimmer and shift queasily. Somewhere among the shadows and the jumpy, ice-white light, he made out a sideboard, a small side table and the back of what appeared to be some kind of recliner — a tank of a chair at any rate, upholstered in some kind of rough, hessian-like material. From the slithering fall of light on the planes and angles of the walls and furniture it seemed reasonable to assume that the recliner was facing the TV. Constantly alert for movement, Sam crept further into the room, raising the flare pistol as he approached the back of the chair.

He was maybe a metre from it when something crunched beneath his foot. Looking down he saw broken glass, and a further glance revealed a table lamp on the floor, its bulb shattered and its wire-and-fabric shade, which was lying several feet away, mangled and crushed as though it had been trampled by uncaring feet.

‘If there’s anyone here, let me tell you that I’m armed and I ain’t taking no shit,’ Sam said loudly. As an afterthought he added, ‘I come in peace.’

From behind him, Purna said, ‘Brace yourself. I’m turning the light on.’

There was a click and the room was suddenly filled with harsh electric light. The first thing the two of them saw, which had previously been concealed by the gloom, was the blood.

It formed a thick, red sticky pool — almost an island — on the green carpet around the chair. Looking down, Sam realized that the toe of one of his Reeboks was mere centimetres away from the edge of the pool. He stepped back quickly, as if afraid it might reach out and grab him.

Also revealed by the light was a hand, a withered old lady’s claw, sporting a diamond-encrusted wedding ring. It was hanging limply over the arm of the chair, the blood that was dripping from its fingers making a very faint plip sound as it added to the pool below.

Sam and Purna looked at each other, already resigned to the sight of another atrocity, and slowly rounded the chair on opposite sides, forming a wide arc to avoid having to step in the blood. Sitting in the chair, the TV remote control still resting on the side cushion within reach of her right hand, was a scrawny woman in her eighties or maybe older. She had wispy, nicotine-yellow hair and inordinately showy diamond studs in the fleshy lobes of her ears. The skin of her face, which had remained untouched by her killer, was like crumpled brown paper, and there was startlingly pink lipstick edging the yawning O of her open mouth.

Although her face was untouched, the same could not be said of her torso. From her throat to her groin she had been torn apart, the damage so extensive it was as though a grenade had detonated in her belly. There was barely anything left of her bodily contents but a few shreds of bloody pulp clinging to the inside of a torn sack of human skin. She was so insubstantial she looked as if she could be folded up and packed in a suitcase.

‘Well, I guess there’s nothing—’ Sam began, and then the old woman opened pale, cataracted eyes and made a horrible hissing gurgle, as if she was sifting wet gravel through her throat.

Sam jumped, his eyebrows shooting so far up his forehead that they became lost beneath the rim of his red bandanna. ‘You have got to be kidding me!’ he shouted, watching in disgust as the woman’s quivering hand rose from the chair and clawed feebly at the air in an effort to reach him.

Stony-faced, Purna raised the heavy crowbar she was holding and brought it down mercilessly on the woman’s skull. There was a crack and the skull split open, releasing a gush of thin, brownish blood which ran down the woman’s face and into her milky eyes. Two more swift blows were all it took to shatter the skull completely, and a further two caused sufficient damage to the brain for the woman to slump and become still.

Sam stared down at the wreck of the old woman’s body, appalled.

‘It was a mercy killing,’ said Purna, as if she felt a need to justify her actions. ‘I couldn’t stand the thought of her just sitting here, day after day, full of that … that hunger.’

‘I know,’ said Sam, his voice clogged with revulsion. He cleared his throat. ‘You did the right thing.’

‘Come on,’ Purna said, ‘let’s get out of here.’

Sam nodded. ‘Gladly.’

Although they had only been in the house for a few minutes, they both breathed in deeply as they stepped outside, as if released from a long ordeal.

Clearly relieved, Xian Mei, who had been watching the alleyway, hurried up to them. ‘What did you find in there?’

‘You don’t wanna know,’ muttered Sam. ‘All quiet out here?’

Xian Mei nodded. ‘I saw a couple of those things — a man and a woman — walk past the end of the alleyway, but they didn’t see me.’

Purna looked up at the sky. All that remained of the night were a few shreds of inky cloud.

‘Let’s get this done quickly,’ she said. ‘It’ll be full daylight soon.’

They hurried up the alleyway as fleet-footed as they could, dropping to a huddled crouch when the buildings to either side of them no longer provided cover. They scanned the main street in the hope of spotting a suitable vehicle. They had already discussed what they should be looking for before setting off. Ideally they needed something like a delivery truck — something nippy and mobile, but large enough to carry plenty of provisions and stout enough to withstand attack. They had decided the best thing to do would be to target a vehicle that clearly belonged to a specific retail outlet rather than one that might just have been parked randomly on the street. That way it was more likely that they would find the keys inside the building that it served.

‘There,’ said Sam, pointing to his left. On the opposite side of the street, maybe a hundred and fifty metres away, was a surf shop called Wave Your Worries Goodbye. The shop sign above a display window full of surf gear and wetsuits was red, the name painted in calligraphy-type letters on a silver surfboard. Parked out front was a red van bearing the same logo.

‘Wave your worries goodbye,’ murmured Purna. ‘Very appropriate.’

‘I like to think of it as an omen,’ said Sam.

From their vantage point they could see a couple of hundred metres along the street in either direction. At this moment only two of the infected were visible — a white guy of medium build in his early thirties wearing a black E Street Band tour T-shirt and cut-off jeans, and a pretty dark-haired girl of about eighteen in white shorts and a floral-print vest. The girl had brightly coloured plastic bangles on her wrists and a small shoulder bag on a long thin strap jouncing perkily on her hip. The man’s hands and face were slathered in blood. The girl was chewing on what looked like a human liver, burying her face in it and snuffling like a pig.

‘Those were the two I saw earlier,’ whispered Xian Mei.

‘If we’re quick they’ll hopefully be the only two we’ll have to contend with,’ said Purna.

Quickly she outlined her plan, and Sam and Xian Mei nodded their agreement. Without further preamble she said, ‘Let’s go.’ Then the three of them stood up and began to run across the street.

They had covered almost half the distance before they were spotted. It was the girl who saw them first, her head snapping up as if she had caught their scent on the air. She let loose a snarling roar, dropped the lump of meat she was holding and started running towards them, the bag looped around her shoulder flying behind her.

She converged with them when they were around ten metres from the van. Ignoring Purna, who was in the lead, she targeted Sam.

‘I got it!’ he shouted, slowing just enough to raise the flare pistol and fire at the girl. The flare exploded against her chest in a flash of light, blackening her clothes. She screeched in rage and staggered slightly, but didn’t go down. ‘Fuck!’ Sam shouted and veered to meet her head on, swinging the machete. When she reached for him, he hacked at her arm, almost severing it with one blow and knocking her off-balance. As she stumbled, her badly wounded arm gushing blood, he raised the machete again, stepping to one side so he could get a good swing at her head.

The first blow buried itself deep in the side of her skull, lopping off the top part of her ear. As she fell, he wrenched the machete free and followed up with two more savage blows, silencing her for ever. The adrenalin was pounding in his ears and so he didn’t immediately register that Xian Mei was screaming for help. When he did, he turned to see her on the ground, the male zombie clinging to her kicking right leg, trying to bite it.

Her machete was lying several metres away from her, and she was simultaneously trying to scrabble towards it and avoid getting bitten. She pistoned her left leg out, hitting the zombie in the face with the sole of her foot and breaking his nose with a crunch. However, although the kick snapped his head back, it didn’t loosen his grip on her leg. Hearing a crash, and registering in his peripheral vision that Purna was focused on kicking in the door of Wave Your Worries Goodbye, Sam ran across to Xian Mei, raising his machete once again.

He brought it down with all his force on the back of the zombie’s head, cleaving its skull. The creature fell forward on to its face, its body spasming and jerking as its dying brain short-circuited. As it died in a spreading pool of its own blood, Xian Mei scooted backwards away from it and scrambled to her feet. Her right leg was scratched and a little bloody, but she seemed otherwise unharmed.

‘You OK?’ Sam asked.

‘Fine,’ she said, snatching up her machete.

The two of them glanced around, then hurried across to the van parked outside Wave Your Worries Goodbye. Purna had succeeded in kicking the door open now and had gone inside.

Before Sam could even think about going in after her, she was running back out, left hand raised triumphantly, keys jangling on the loop of a keyring around her finger.

‘You see anyone?’ Sam asked.

She shook her head. ‘Neither dead nor alive.’ Then her eyes flickered beyond him and widened. ‘Shit.’

Sam and Xian Mei turned to see a zombie running towards them. It was a fat, bald white man of about sixty, with a grey beard and fuzzy blue tattoos on his hairy arms. Unlike the other zombies they had seen, he was not drenched with the messy remains of a recent meal. The cause of his infection, however, was clear. His left leg was badly bitten and he was missing the thumb and forefinger of his left hand.

The man’s face was as blue as a heart attack victim’s and his pendulous belly swung beneath a yellow T-shirt bearing the legend World’s Greatest Lover. His bottom half was clad only in a pair of black Speedos and he was wearing an open-toed sandal on his right foot; his other was bare.

Purna pressed a button on the key fob and the van chirruped and flashed its lights as its doors unlocked. They ran across to it and got in, Purna diving into the driver’s seat, Sam and Xian Mei running around to the passenger door. Sam glanced at the approaching zombie as Xian Mei climbed into the van ahead of him. Though it was running as fast as it could, its steps were lumbering, its weight slowing it down. It made Sam think of an old lion that was getting too slow to hunt; he almost felt sorry for it.

The zombie was still ten metres short of them when the van pulled away. Watching it in the wing mirror, Sam saw it try to put on an extra spurt of speed but succeed only in tripping over and sprawling headlong in the dust.

Need to lose some weight, you fat fuck, he thought, then turned as Purna muttered, ‘Hell.’

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Xian Mei, who was sitting in the middle of the three front seats.

‘We’re almost out of gas,’ Purna said. She raised her eyes Heavenwards. ‘Thank you, God.’

‘Bound to be a gas station around here someplace,’ said Sam.

‘There is,’ said Xian Mei. ‘There’s one further along the main street, back the way we’ve just come.’

Without hesitation, Purna hit the brakes and turned the steering wheel, performing a neat U-turn. They were now heading back towards the fat, grey-bearded zombie, which appeared to be picking itself up almost ruefully, its bare legs and the front of its T-shirt covered in brown dust.

At their approach, the zombie held up its hands and lurched into their path, like a drunken late-night reveller trying to hail a cab. Purna gave a casual jerk on the steering wheel to bypass it, but in a desperate attempt to satisfy its hunger it flung itself at the van. There was a heavy thump and the van shuddered slightly as the zombie impacted with the side of it and bounced off. Once again glancing into his wing mirror as they sped away, Sam saw the zombie, its shattered arm now hanging at a bizarre angle, pick itself up from a spatter of its own blood and stagger hopelessly after them.

He had barely faced front again when two more of the infected appeared. One, a skinny, short-skirted black woman with spectacular legs, who had clearly been for a night on the town and had decided to head home a little too late, came running out of the open door of a nearby bar. The other, a white boy of about seven wearing nothing but a pair of green shorts, was crouched in the gutter on the other side of the road, devouring what might have been a dead cat, but he jumped to his feet at their approach.

With the zombies heading at them from separate directions, it was impossible to avoid hitting both of them. An expression of calculating grimness on her face, Purna took the path of least resistance, veering to her left just as the boy took a running leap towards them.

Caught in mid-air, the boy smashed into the van and all but disintegrated like a flimsy bag of meat — which, in effect, is what he was. For a few seconds the windscreen was coated in a thick spray of red and Purna was driving blind. Then, calmly, she flicked on the windscreen wipers and tugged the indicator lever towards her, activating the water jets. Sam sat back with a groan as the wipers swept the majority of the mess away, shocked by the fact that the boy’s violent death hadn’t affected him more than it had. What was it the psychologists called it? Combat fatigue?

With Xian Mei directing them, they reached the gas station without further incident. Opening the passenger door, Sam said, ‘I’ll fill her up. You guys watch out for more of those things.’

The girls nodded and Sam flipped open the cap on the side of the van, and unhooked the gas hose. For a second after squeezing the trigger he felt sure the pump would either be locked or run dry. But to his relief the gas started to flow.

The tank was almost full when he happened to glance up and saw a face watching him through a small dusty window in the closed side door of the body shop attached to the gas station. As soon as he established eye contact with it, the face disappeared with a wide-eyed expression of alarm.

‘Hey!’ he shouted.

Purna opened the driver’s door and stuck her head out. ‘You OK?’

‘There’s someone in there,’ Sam said, nodding towards the body shop. ‘A regular person, I mean.’

‘They look friendly?’ Purna asked.

‘They looked scared,’ said Sam. ‘She looked scared. It was a girl. Twenty years old, maybe younger.’

‘I’ll check it out,’ Xian Mei called, getting out of the van and walking across to the body shop. She knocked on the door. ‘Hello, anyone in there?’ When no one answered, she said, ‘We just wondered if you needed any help? We’re not going to hurt you.’

After a few seconds there was a click and the door opened, albeit no more than a few inches. A girl’s voice, young and nervous, said, ‘What do you want?’

‘We’re just getting some gas,’ replied Xian Mei. ‘We’ll pay you for it if you want. Are you OK in there?’

There was a pause and then the girl said, ‘My papa’s hurt.’

Sam and Xian Mei exchanged glances. ‘Hurt how?’ asked Xian Mei. ‘Is there anything we can do?’

There was a further pause and then the door opened a bit more to reveal a slender, almost frail young girl, who peered out at them with wide dark eyes, like a timid animal uncertain whether to emerge from its burrow.

‘Hi,’ said Xian Mei with a sudden warm smile which transformed her face. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Jin,’ said the girl.

‘Hi, Jin. I’m Xian Mei, that’s Sam and our driver’s called Purna.’

Jin looked at Xian Mei and then at Sam. ‘How come you’re not like the others?’ she asked.

‘The infected, you mean?’ said Sam, and shrugged. ‘We don’t know. We’re just not.’

‘Infected?’ Jin asked.

‘There’s a virus,’ explained Xian Mei. ‘It … affects people’s minds, sends them crazy.’

‘One of the crazy people hurt my papa,’ Jin said.

Sam tried not to look alarmed. ‘Hurt him how?’

‘She bit him. She tried to kill him.’ Jin swallowed. ‘My papa had to shoot her.’

To his shame, the first question that leaped into Sam’s head was to ask Jin what kind of gun her father owned. Resisting the urge, he asked instead, ‘And how’s your papa now?’

‘He’s sick,’ Jin said. Hesitantly she asked, ‘Can you help him?’

‘We can try,’ said Sam. ‘You want to show me where he is?’

After another moment’s hesitation the girl nodded and led the way inside.

‘Let Purna know what’s going on,’ Sam muttered to Xian Mei, and followed Jin through the door and into the cool gloom of the body shop. There were tools on racks against the walls, a hydraulic pulley system overhead to lift heavy car parts and a small office space in the corner. The place smelled of oil, grease and metal. Jin led him over to an open door in the left-hand wall.

‘This is where we live,’ she said simply. ‘Papa’s through here.’

They passed through a short hallway with a threadbare carpet and into a small sitting room at the back of the house. There wasn’t much in there but a small colour TV perched on a wooden fruit box, a bookcase which mostly contained Reader’s Digest editions of classic novels and a ratty grey sofa with matching armchair.

There were also lots of framed family photographs on the walls — some of Jin on her own at various ages, or with her parents, smiling and happy. Sam wondered what had become of the pretty woman in the photographs who, from the resemblance, was clearly Jin’s mother. He turned his attention to the man lying on the sofa with a blanket over his legs. He was evidently the same man in the photographs, but the difference between the smiling images on the walls and the flesh-and-blood figure on the sofa could not have been more marked.

Jin’s father was sweating and feverish, his face a ghastly grey, his eyes ringed with dark flesh and rolling in his sockets. He was breathing stertorously and there was a bad smell about him, a smell of sickness and fear. His left arm was heavily bandaged from elbow to wrist, and on the floor beside the sofa was a bowl of water with a white cloth floating in it.

‘I cleaned and disinfected the wound, and gave him some painkillers, and I’ve been trying to keep him cool,’ said Jin. ‘But he’s getting worse. He’s been delirious for the past hour and he’s had a couple of seizures. I tried calling for an ambulance, but all the phones are dead.’

‘How long ago he get bit?’ Sam asked.

‘About … four, five hours.’

‘And this woman who attacked him? It wasn’t …?’ Instead of finishing his question, Sam glanced up at the family portraits.

Jin shook her head vigorously. ‘No. My mama died when I was twelve. Anaplastic large-cell lymphoma.’ When Sam raised his eyebrows she said, ‘I’m a nurse. Just about to qualify anyway.’

‘Good for you,’ Sam said distractedly. He was thinking hard, wondering what to do, what to suggest. He knew that if Jin stayed here with her father he would eventually turn, just like the others, and attack her. Indicating the man’s bandaged arm, he asked, ‘So how exactly did it happen?’

‘He heard a noise in the night, thought someone was messing with the gas pumps. When he saw the woman he thought she was drunk or maybe ill. He went out to ask if she was OK and she just attacked him. Papa said she was like a wild animal. He said if he hadn’t shot her she would’ve killed him.’

‘So where’s this woman now?’

Jin shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Papa said he was sure he’d killed her, but when we looked out later she’d gone.’

Sam was silent for a moment, and then he said, ‘Listen, Jin, there ain’t no easy way to say this. Your papa’s ill, really ill I mean, and he ain’t gonna get better. This thing he’s got, there’s no cure for it. Pretty soon he’ll turn, like the woman that attacked him, and he’ll attack you too.’

Jin shook her head almost angrily. ‘No! He would never do that!’

‘He won’t be able to stop himself. Believe me, I’ve seen it. You can’t do nothing to help him. All you can do now is help yourself.’

‘What are you saying?’ Jin’s face was stony.

Sam took a deep breath. ‘You gotta get away from here. You gotta come with us.’

She recoiled, almost as if he had tried to strike her. ‘I’m not leaving him!’

‘You got to, if you want to live.’

‘No!’

‘He’s right,’ croaked a voice from the sofa.

Surprised, Sam looked down at Jin’s father. Moments before, the man had been delirious but now, temporarily at least, the fever had abated and he seemed alert and lucid.

‘Papa!’ Jin exclaimed delightedly, and cast Sam an accusatory look. ‘You see. He’s getting better.’

‘No,’ said Jin’s father, his voice so weak it was barely there, ‘I’m not.’

Jin knelt beside her father and took his hand. ‘I’m not leaving you, Papa. You will get better. I’ll make you well.’

Jin’s father shook his head and winced, even that simple movement seeming to cause him pain.

‘You must go,’ he said. ‘If you don’t … then I’ll do something terrible, I know it … I’m having such thoughts, my beautiful Jin … such awful thoughts … You are not safe here …’

His eyes drifted closed. Jin clung to her father’s hand, shaking her head, tears running down her face. After a moment the man’s eyes flickered open again.

‘Leave me some medicine … and lock me in … Help will eventually come … I know it … But in the meantime … you must go …’ His eyes shifted to focus on Sam. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Sam, sir.’

‘Sam … a good name …’ He swallowed. ‘Sam, do you promise to look after my little girl?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Sam said gravely. ‘I promise.’

A ghost of a smile played around Jin’s father’s lips. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.

Gently Sam placed a hand on Jin’s arm. ‘We should go.’

Sobbing, Jin lifted her father’s hand and kissed it. ‘I’ll come back for you, Papa. I promise.’