Mark Morris - Dead Island

‘Fuck,’ Purna breathed and whacked him again. She didn’t want to kill the guy if she could help it, but the way things were going he was giving her no alternative.

On a sudden impulse, she pulled the pin from the fire extinguisher, aimed the hose at the bellhop and squeezed the trigger. A highly concentrated jet of fire-retardant foam shot from the nozzle, directly into his face. He flailed and thrashed, but Purna grimly kept up her attack, concentrating on his eyes and mouth so that he could neither breathe nor see. The foam dripped down the front of his grey uniform, running red with blood, making it look as if he had met with a particularly nasty shaving accident. When she had forced the bellhop to retreat about ten metres, she upended the extinguisher, smashed it into his face once more, and then threw the extinguisher aside and ran back down the corridor.

Logan had slumped against the wall and was now semi-conscious, breathing stertorously and clutching his bleeding shoulder. Purna wrapped her arms around him and dragged him into her room. As soon as his feet had cleared the doorway she lowered him carefully to the carpet, then ran across and closed the door. Now, unless the bellhop had the strength to break down a sturdy hotel room door, they were safe — at least for the time being.

Crossing back to Logan, Purna heaved him up on to the bed. She lifted his head gently and slid a pillow underneath it. He was sweating, his eyes were fluttering, and blood was still pumping out of his shoulder.

‘Logan,’ she said. ‘Can you hear me?’

His eyes drifted open, flickered around. ‘Where am I?’

‘In my room.’

He considered this, then his lips twitched into a smile. ‘Knew I’d make it into your bed eventually,’ he murmured.

She laughed suddenly, a release of tension after what had just occurred. ‘Dream on, lover boy,’ she said.

In the en-suite bathroom she grabbed all the towels hanging over the rail. The hand towel she ran under the tap, wringing it out so that it was wet but not dripping. She went back into the bedroom, dragged a chair up to the edge of the bed and sat down. Logan had closed his eyes again but was breathing a little more steadily than before.

‘You still with us?’ she asked gently.

He licked his lips. ‘Just about. Feel a bit woozy.’

She clicked on the bedside lamp to examine his shoulder better. ‘Are you in much pain?’

‘Not as much as I was when you kicked me in the balls,’ he replied.

She snorted another laugh. ‘Yeah, sorry about that … Actually, no I’m not sorry. You deserved it.’

‘Guess I was being kind of a doofus,’ he conceded.

‘At least you can admit it.’ She was silent for a few moments as she ran her eyes over his wounds. There were several deep bite marks as far as she could tell, each of which was still oozing blood. ‘Listen, Logan, I’m going to patch you up as best I can,’ she told him, ‘but I’ll have to clean the area up first. It’s probably going to hurt a bit.’

‘Thanks for breaking it to me gently,’ he muttered.

‘My pleasure. Now I want you to be a brave little soldier.’

She pressed the wet towel to his shoulder, soaking up as much of the surface blood as she could. He winced a little, but otherwise didn’t react.

‘How do the wounds feel?’ she asked as she folded the wet towel over and began, gently but firmly, to wipe the excess blood away.

‘Weird,’ he replied. ‘Numb, but they also kind of sting a little. Like a jellyfish sting.’

‘Hmm,’ she said.

‘What do you mean “hmm”?’

‘Nothing. Just hmm.’

Logan was silent for a moment, then he asked, ‘What was wrong with that guy?’

Purna finished cleaning away the blood and dropped the wet towel on to the floor. Picking up a fresh dry towel, she folded it in half once, then twice more. Pressing it to his shoulder, so that the towel covered his still-seeping wounds, she said, ‘Can you hold this for me? Press as hard as you can.’

‘Sure,’ he said, and did as she asked. ‘You didn’t answer my question,’ he grimaced, as she took another towel and tore it into strips.

Purna looked him in the eye. ‘I don’t know. I have no idea what was wrong with that guy. Maybe he was sick. Maybe he was high on something.’

‘You know what I think?’ said Logan.

‘What?’

‘I think it’s finally here. I think this is the fucking zombie apocalypse.’

There was a beat of silence — and then Purna barked a laugh. ‘Yeah, right.’

‘I’m serious. Did you see that guy’s eyes? And he tried to eat me, man.’

‘He tried to bite you,’ Purna corrected him. ‘There’s a difference.’

Logan shook his head, then gasped when pain shot through the side of his neck.

‘Keep your head still,’ Purna ordered.

‘Sorry, nurse,’ Logan said. He clenched his teeth as he adjusted position slightly. ‘But like I was saying, that guy wasn’t on drugs.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because he wasn’t the first person I’ve seen like that tonight. There was a woman at Sam’s gig. Same weird eyes, and just as crazy.’

‘But I was at the gig, remember?’ said Purna. ‘I didn’t see anything.’ Then her eyes widened. ‘Hang on — this wasn’t near the lavvies, was it?’

‘If you mean the restrooms, then yeah, it was. Why? What did you see?’

‘Nothing much. They were closed off, that’s all. Rumour was a couple of security guys got attacked. Someone said something about a nutjob with a knife.’

‘It wasn’t a knife,’ said Logan. ‘They were attacked by a zombie. Like that one out there.’

Purna made a dismissive t’cho sound through her teeth. ‘There’s no such thing as zombies,’ she said irritably.

‘I know a zombie when I see one,’ said Logan stubbornly. ‘I’ve seen the movies.’

‘Exactly!’ replied Purna. ‘ Movies . As in fiction . Now hold still while I do this.’

Using a number of the torn strips she secured his makeshift dressing in place, then with another towel made Logan a sling, which she tied at the back, next to his armpit, to stop the knot digging into his wounded shoulder.

‘My arm isn’t broken,’ he told her.

‘No, but it’s heavy,’ she said. ‘The sling will take the weight and keep the wounds from reopening, give them chance to heal.’

He sighed, and said glumly, ‘They aren’t going to heal.’

‘What? Course they are,’ she replied.

Instinctively he shook his head, and immediately winced again. ‘No they’re not. I’m infected now. Soon as it reaches my brain I’ll become one of them .’

‘Don’t talk shit,’ she said. ‘You’ll be fine.’

‘You don’t sound too sure.’

She scowled. ‘I am sure. Even if that guy has got … well, something infectious, he’s not going to pass it on to you. We’ll get you to a doctor, get you the right treatment, the right medication …’

‘There is no treatment,’ Logan muttered.

‘Bullshit!’ Purna snapped, angry now. ‘Stop talking like you want to get sick!’

‘Sorry,’ Logan said. ‘Of course I don’t want to get sick. It’s just … oh, this is seriously fucked up.’

Purna leaned over him, and to his surprise took his face in her hands. For a moment he thought she was going to kiss him, but she simply fixed her dark eyes on his, staring at him until she had his full attention. Then, quietly but with such conviction that he couldn’t help but believe her, she said, ‘You’re going to be fine, Logan. I promise. I’ll make sure you’re fine. OK?’

When he didn’t respond immediately, she said it again, more forcefully. ‘OK?’