Mark Morris - Dead Island

‘Nuclear cleansing?’ sneered Sam. ‘You mean they’d blow the fucking place sky high? Murder thousands of innocent people?’

‘In order to protect the majority, yes,’ said Charon. ‘But I’m only the messenger boy, not the instigator here — so let’s not get bogged down quibbling about the moral issues.’

‘You said “ordinarily”,’ said Purna, ‘which I’m guessing means that because of these “precautionary measures” you mentioned, what was supposed to happen hasn’t happened in this case?’

Charon nodded.

Purna looked as though she was about to ask him another question, then her eyes widened. ‘Oh my God.’

‘What?’ asked Sam.

Looking intently at Charon, Purna said, ‘Let me take a wild guess: Ryder White would be the man in charge of ordering the nuclear strike on Banoi, right?’

Charon’s smile was confirmation enough.

‘Don’t you see?’ said Purna to a stillbemused Sam. ‘The reason Banoi hasn’t been wiped off the face of the earth is because Ryder White’s wife is sick, and he’s delayed the order because he thinks the cure might be on the island. But the question is, why did she get sick in the first place?’

Sam felt like the kid in class who doesn’t get what everyone else seems able to grasp — and then all at once he did get it. ‘Because they made her sick,’ he said, nodding at Charon.

‘Exactly.’

Sam shook his head in disbelief. ‘Bastards.’

‘Oh, please,’ said Charon wearily, ‘less of the bleeding heart bullshit. It was purely a practical decision. The Organization simply needed a way to buy some time. It was discovered that Ryder White’s wife was the physician here, so the infection was planted in the prison. As the doctor treating the sick prisoners it was inevitable she would contract the virus sooner rather than later — and hence the nuclear threat, luckily for you, was allayed.’

‘So where are White and his wife now?’ asked Purna.

‘In the sick bay, waiting for news that you’ve arrived with the vaccine. As soon as your friends wake up, I’ll give him a call, whereupon he will radio for a helicopter to take us all far, far away from here.’

‘And what happens then?’ said Purna. ‘What happens to us ?’

Charon patted his pocket. ‘You’re my insurance,’ he said, ‘in case the vaccine doesn’t work.’

Insurance . Purna was growing to hate that word. The men in the police station had kept Jin as ‘insurance’. ‘And if it does work?’ she said.

‘You’ll still be assets,’ Charon replied. ‘Once news of the virus gets out, I’m sure there will be plenty of factions desperate for immunity.’

‘So what you saying?’ said Sam. ‘That you’ll sell us like cattle to the highest bidder?’

‘Maybe. But don’t worry, I’ll see that you go to a good home.’

‘I thought you worked for the Organization ?’

‘That doesn’t mean there isn’t room for a little free enterprise.’

Purna gave him a disgusted look. ‘You’re nothing but a chancer, are you, Kevin or Charon or whatever your name is?’

‘I prefer to think of myself as an entrepreneur,’ Charon said.

‘Dealing in human lives?’ asked Purna.

‘Why not?’ Charon replied. ‘Is there a product more precious?’

Before anyone could answer, there was a groan and Yerema leaned back in her seat, screwing up her eyes in an attempt to open them.

‘Ah, and here’s Patient Zero,’ he said, ‘the most precious asset of all.’

Suddenly, briskly, he strode across to the line of chairs on which they sat and shook first Logan and then Jin roughly by the shoulder.

‘Wake up,’ he barked. ‘It’s time to go.’

‘YOU MUST BE the people who brought the vaccine.’

Strong-jawed and broad-shouldered, Colonel Ryder White looked every inch the capable and efficient army man. Even standing beneath the blazing sun, and despite his straitened circumstances, his green army fatigues were immaculate — every button fastened, trousers tucked neatly into the tops of his gleaming, tightly-laced army boots, red beret folded precisely beneath the epaulette on his left shoulder.

His wife’s demeanour, however, could not have provided more of a contrast. Strapped to a gurney with thick leather constraints, the clearly once slim and pretty blonde woman in the beautifully-tailored white suit was a snarling spitting harridan. Her eyes had already taken on the familiar milky glaze of the terminally infected and her skin was grey and discoloured. Even her suit looked grubby and dishevelled, as if she had been scrabbling around in the dirt, or as if the corruption of her body was seeping through her clothes.

One look was enough for Sam to tell there was no way back for her. If White believed that some miracle vaccine was going to restore his wife to life and health, then he was sorely deluded.

‘That’s us,’ said Logan in response to White’s question.

‘Why are you handcuffed?’

‘You better ask him,’ said Sam, jerking his head towards Charon, who was at the rear of the group, herding them across the wide expanse of the tower roof with the aid of what had previously been Yerema’s handgun.

‘Despite the successful conclusion to what you no doubt perceive as a heroic mission, Colonel, these people are ruthless mercenaries and should be treated with the utmost caution,’ Charon said.

Purna barked a laugh. ‘That’s a prime example of the pot calling the kettle black if I ever heard one.’

Despite asking the question, White seemed uninterested in either Charon’s explanation or Purna’s response. Looking at Charon with barely concealed desperation, he demanded, ‘Where is the vaccine now?’

Charon patted the pocket of his overalls. ‘Don’t worry, Colonel. I have it here, safe and sound.’

‘Show it to me.’

‘I don’t think that’s really nece—’

‘Show it to me,’ the Colonel insisted, employing what Sam guessed was his parade-ground bark, a tone that invited no argument. ‘I need to know it exists, that there’s still a chance …’

His voice choked off, and Sam realized how raw the Colonel’s emotions were, how hard he was fighting to hold himself together. Walking forward a few paces, Charon sighed and reached into his pocket, producing the stoppered vial of yellowish liquid.

‘There you are,’ he said, as if speaking to a spoiled child. ‘Happy now?’

White produced a Beretta M9 from his holster and pointed it at Charon. ‘Hand it over.’

Sam glanced at Charon, who was now standing to his right. The Organization agent rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, come on, Colonel, put that away. You’re embarrassing yourself.’

‘Give it to me.’

‘Why?’ asked Charon. ‘So you can feed it to your wife like medicine? Don’t be ridiculous. It has to be fully tested and an antidote manufactured. That’s going to take time.’

‘We don’t have time,’ White insisted, and he seemed twitchy now, agitated. Beads of sweat stood out on his broad forehead. ‘My wife’s sick, can’t you see that?’

‘Your wife’s dead , Colonel,’ Purna piped up. She jerked her head towards Charon. ‘And he killed her.’

‘Dead?’ White shook his head angrily. ‘No … no, she’s very ill. But she’s going to be fine.’

Charon laughed. ‘Of course she is, Colonel. Don’t listen to this woman. She’s just trying to drive a wedge between us.’

‘It’s true, Colonel,’ Purna called across the gap between them. ‘This man — Charon or Kevin or whatever he calls himself — introduced the virus into the hospital, knowing that your wife would contract it. He did it to delay your order to destroy the island if the infection achieved pandemic proportions — which, of course, it quickly did.’