Mark Morris - Dead Island

All the time they had been watching the hand, the grenades in the other room had been going off. Accompanying the first wave of blasts had been the tinkle of breaking glass and numerous wet thuds against the closed doors. The echoes were still thrumming in their ears when the second wave kicked in, five enormous explosions, one after the other. The room shook, and a large crack appeared in the thick stone wall from floor to ceiling. Then there was silence.

It was the prisoners, still sitting around the table fifteen metres away, who reacted first. They began to whoop and laugh; a couple of them high-fived each other.

Irritably Purna raised a hand for silence, pressing her ear against the door. After a few seconds, she said, ‘Still some movement, but I think we should go now, while those that haven’t been blown to bits are still recovering.’

Though Sam’s ears were still throbbing, he nodded and looked around. ‘Everyone ready?’

There were further nods and mutters of confirmation.

‘Come on,’ said Purna.

She opened the door with a shove, took one look around and started running. Sam, a step behind her, did the same, feeling not unlike a soldier crossing a battlefield. The circular room — Panopticon, Kevin had called it — was a wreck, the floor scattered with twisted metal and shattered glass. Even more of a wreck were its occupants, the majority blown to pieces. There were body parts everywhere, and the floor was so awash with blood that it resembled a red lake choked with flesh and debris.

Despite this, some of the infected were still active. A good proportion of these, however, were so badly injured they could do little more than drag themselves around on shattered limbs. One man, his arms nothing but stumps from which spikes of splintered bone stuck out like vestigial wings, ran at Sam, gnashing his teeth. Sam swivelled and shot him in the head, barely breaking his stride. He jumped over the grasping hand of a man whose innards were oozing from a gaping hole in his midriff. Nearby a head, attached to little more than a spinal column and half a torso, was growling and grinding its teeth.

It had earlier been agreed that if a good proportion of the infected survived the blast, the seven of them would make for the observation tower in the centre of the room and re-enact ‘Operation Fish in a Barrel’, picking off the zombies from above. However the grenades — two dozen of which had been liberated, along with their guns, from the police armoury on Banoi — had done considerably more damage than Sam suspected even Purna had hoped. As a result of this the Australian girl turned briefly and shouted, ‘Keep going!’ She gestured towards the door diagonally across from the one through which they had entered.

As soon as she reached the door, just a little ahead of the others, she tried the handle. Satisfied the door would open, she yelled, ‘Xian Mei, cover us! The rest of you — grenades!’

None of them needed any further explanation. As Xian Mei turned and began firing at the few zombies still able-bodied enough to lurch towards them (a quick glance confirmed to Sam that none of the remaining creatures were actually running), he, Logan, Jin and Yerema were fumbling in their pockets. Sam helped Purna shove the door open, and then as the infected on the other side began to register their presence, the five of them pulled the pins on their second batch of grenades and hurled them into what Kevin had earlier told them was the high-security wing. Purna began firing at the creatures closest to the door while Sam and the others grabbed their remaining grenades and repeated the process. Then Purna and Sam swapped places, Sam keeping the infected back while Purna threw her last grenade.

Once again it was the first, almost simultaneous round of blasts that slammed the door closed. This time Sam and the others were already moving back in readiness, but that didn’t prevent them from being liberally spattered with zombie blood when one of the infected, who had been squeezing himself through the narrow gap between door and frame, was all but sliced in half lengthways when the first grenade went off. Choking and spluttering, Sam was at least secretly gratified to see that Kevin too had had a liberal dousing. The skinny guy was looking down at his gore-streaked overalls with the appalled expression of a kid at a party whose best friend had just vomited all over his favourite T-shirt. Still wiping the stinking, dripping fluid from his face, Sam said, ‘Welcome to the club, buddy.’

For a split-second, which coincided with the second batch of grenades going off in the next room, Kevin looked at him with an expression of pure venom. And then his face abruptly and creepily slipped back into its familiar, slightly secretive smile, and he said, ‘I’ll look forward to receiving my membership badge.’

With Xian Mei and Logan still picking off zombies behind them, Purna and Sam reopened the door to check what damage the second batch of grenades had wrought. As before the results were both impressive and appalling. Though some of the infected had survived, most had been torn to pieces, and the room now looked like the aftermath of a train wreck. To add to this impression the central observation tower had collapsed, which meant that as well as severed limbs and mangled bodies, the floor was strewn with an obstacle course of tangled metal and broken glass.

Purna began to cross the room, picking her way through and over the wreckage, heading for the door Kevin had indicated on his diagram, which stood between two rows of cells on the far wall. As she advanced she gunned down approaching zombies with ruthless efficiency, and Sam, a few steps behind her, did the same. Just behind Sam came Jin and Yerema, firing their pistols when they needed to, and just behind them , keeping his head low, was Kevin.

At the back of the group Logan and Xian Mei wrestled the door closed to shut out the straggle of approaching zombies left in the previous room. Turning, they found themselves cut off from the rest of the group, as at least two dozen of the infected closed in from all sides. Some of the creatures had been injured in the blast, but most were still able-bodied enough to remain dangerous.

‘Er … guys,’ Logan shouted as he and Xian Mei, standing back to back, began firing at the fastest of the approaching zombies. Suddenly something dropped from above, and although it only caught them a glancing blow, it was enough to knock Xian Mei off her feet and send her gun flying out of her hand. Logan barely had time to register that what had hit them was one of the infected, which had apparently been so desperate to attack that it had taken the most direct route from an upper balcony, before the rest of the zombies converged on them.

‘ Guys! ’ he yelled again, firing desperately into the mass of clawing hands and viciously snarling faces. Somewhere close to him he heard Xian Mei screaming in terror and pain, and then, wrenched and buffeted from all sides, he went down. He began to struggle frantically, punching and kicking, as faces lunged in at him. He felt a sharp pain in his leg, and then another in his upper arm.

No! he thought. I won’t fucking die like this!

Then there were gunshots, running feet, a confusion of noise, and suddenly he was showered with blood and brains as the hideous, rage-filled faces above him were blasted apart one by one. A couple of seconds later those faces were replaced by one he recognized. It was Sam, his wide eyes alive with anxiety and concern.

‘Hey, man, you OK?’ he asked.

‘Apart from nearly becoming a Happy Meal, I’m great,’ replied Logan. He tried to rise and felt pain shoot through his left arm and right leg. ‘Ow! Fuck! That hurts!’

‘You’re bitten, man,’ said Sam. ‘Can you stand?’