Zombie Island Read online

  “Hungry li’l’ tart, that’s for sure.”

  Sarah quickly devoured her food like a street urchin that hadn’t eaten in months. One of the older female convicts, a big Irish woman, reluctantly sat down at Sarah’s table since it was the only one that had an empty seat. Sarah ignored the bigger woman as she continued to ravenously clean the food off her tray. The other prisoner, disgusted at the convict that now had food smeared all over her face and uniform.

  “Hey, you dirty cunt!” The other convict grumbled. “Don’t you ‘ave any bloody manners?”

  Sarah swiftly reached over, grabbed her unused fork off the table next to her and drove it into the back of the woman’s hand, pinning it to the wooden table top. Slobbering and ranting like a mad woman, Sarah jumped up and gripped the screaming woman by her head and continued to slam it into the table until the screaming stopped.

  “Shit!” Gaffney charged over to where Sarah stood smashing the lifeless woman’s head into the hardwood. Blood and bone were starting to splatter the other convicts who were frantically moving away from the feral Sarah.

  “Stop! Sarah, stop!” Gaffney shouted, as the two matrons grabbed the crazed woman from behind and pulled her off the motionless woman who lay face down in a puddle of her own blood.

  Wrestling Sarah away from the table, Gaffney was able to get her arm around the woman’s neck. Sarah was maniacally snapping her jaws open and closed, trying to aggressively bite one of the matrons.

  “Watch her mouth!” Gaffney shouted to her partner. Robin was too slow in moving away from the rabid woman as her yellow, broken teeth found the meat of the matron’s forearm. Sarah tore a big chunk out of Robin’s right arm as the woman pulled away from her mouth. Gaffney, still holding the crazed convict's neck in the crook of her arm, used her right elbow and slammed it hard on the back of her head. Sarah suddenly went limp in Gaffney’s arm. The matron dropped the convict face first to the floor and jerked her arms behind her locking her wrists in her hands.

  “Get me some bleedin’ shackles!” Gaffney shouted. The matron placed her knee in the middle of the unmoving convicts back pinning her to the dirty floor. Gaffney looked around to see male and female guards quickly responding. The other convicts were all standing back away from the area of the fight, wide-eyed and frightened at the woman’s strange outburst. Gaffney saw Robin standing nearby holding her bleeding arm.

  “You alright?”

  “Bitch bit me!” Robin said, trying to stop the bleeding with her other hand. “She bit me!”

  “What’s goin’ on?” Finn and Smiley pushed their way through crowd.

  “Gaffney?”

  “She went crazy and started attacking the other convicts.”

  “Good job in knocking her out.” Smiley chuckled as he handed Gaffney the shackles.

  “Bitch bit me.” Robin repeated.

  “Looks like you're doing better than her.” Smiley nodded to the female convict who was still face down in her blood. The woman made an occasional gurgling sound as she tried to breathe through her destroyed nose.

  “Get her to the hole!” Gaffney said, as she finished putting the shackles on the unconscious woman's wrists.

  “You sure?” Finn asked.

  “Yeah, she’s too fookin’ dangerous to be out here.” Gaffney stood up. “Help me get Robin and this other poor twat to the infirmary.”

  DREAMS OF THE GREAT ESCAPE

  Ward’s Cell: 2100 hours or 9pm

  “So, what is this business about escapin’?” Fred Britten asked in a low tone as to not be heard by anyone but Ward, who lay below on the bottom bunk in their two-man cell. The men had just returned from the showers and were now waiting for the guards to come by for evening count. When Ward didn’t answer, Britten swung his legs over the side of the bunk to see if his cellmate was still there. The convict frowned, annoyed, as Ward gave him a quick grin and waggled his right-hand fingers at him.

  “I’m still here mate.”

  “You goin’ to answer me?” Britten asked, clearly upset at his cellies nonresponse.

  “Just wait.” Ward tucked his arms behind his head and relaxed as one of the prison guards entered the hallway.

  “Count time!” The man shouted. “Off your bunks! Count time!”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Britten said, as he jumped off the top bunk onto the hard packed, dirt floor. Ward rolled off his wooden framed bed and stood up so the lantern carrying guard could see them and get an accurate count. The flickering flame from the oil lamp gave the dark cinder block walls an eerie and foreboding look. Once that was done and the guard continued on his route, both men returned to their bunks. The guard's voice calling for count and the collective groans of the other convicts could be heard fading in the distance.

  “Ok, idiot,” Ward said, clearly annoyed. “I start runnin’ my mouth when you asked we’d be sharin’ our plans with ol’ jailer Dunwoody and spendin’ the rest of our time in the hole.” He stood up and gave Britten’s legs a hard shove. “There is a method to my madness Fred. Me an’ Mary been plannin’ this escape since I got nicked by the coppers. Listen to me and you won’t be spendin’ your golden years in this shit house.”

  “Sorry Ward.” Britten said, sliding off his bunk. “Guess ah just got a li’l’ anxious. Ain’t had me a soft piece in over a year.”

  “Yeah,” Ward smiled and rubbed his dirty hands together. “I get that mate. It’s been a while since I’ve been with my sweet Mary. You keep blabbering mate and you’ll be the soft piece.”

  “Well then Cap’n Thunderbolt.” Britten said using the nickname Ward had given himself. “What is this big plan of yours?”

  “Look,” Ward cautiously glanced around the surrounding cell bars for any nearby guards or any nosy convicts. Seeing they were clear, Ward motioned for Britten to sit down on the bottom bunk next to him. In a hushed voice, “I have been writing my wife Mary on the mainland.”

  “So, she has a boat?”

  “No Fred.” Ward raised a hand, the annoyance thick in his voice. Why he’d chosen this block of wood to trust with his escape plan was nothing but plain old desperation. “Jus’ listen.” Ward said trying not to raise his voice in irritation. “We have been writing in code.”

  “Code?” Britten wrinkled his brow.

  “We’ve been correspondin’ in te reo.”

  “In what? Te reo?” The other inmate scratched his head. “What the fuck is that?”

  “Maori. I learnt some from my wife’s people when I was stayin’ with them. I was hidin’ out from Her Majesty’s Guards. I did a payday heist from the local Garrison. I guess soldiers don’t take too kindly to you stealin’ their money. Nearly got my ass blown off. Good times.” Ward grinned.

  “I didn’t know you knew how to write.”

  “What you think I’ve been doing at night?”

  “How much did ya nick from them soldiers?” Britten asked, more interested in the money aspect than the pending escape.

  “Ah, never mind that, doesn’t matter. That’s money long spent. Just open those big ears of yours and listen. My wife is Maori; beautiful, big strong

  woman.” He smiled thinking about the last time they’d been together. “Anyways, she is going to swim across the bay and drop some lock picks where we are buildin’ the wall.”

  “She is gonna swim across the bay? It’s loaded with bloody sharks. She needs a boat. I wouldn’t let my missus swim it.”

  “You have a missus?” Ward asked very surprised. Britten seemed the type of guy that wasn’t particular about who or what he slept with.

  “No.” Britten frowned looking a little hurt. “But if I did I still wouldn’t.”

  “She can do it.” Ward grinned. “Trust me. Like I said she’s a strong woman. She’s swum in more dangerous spots than the bloody bay. Mary used to spear fish eels.”

  “What’s an eel?”

  “It’s a long…” Ward let out an exasperated breath. “It’s a fucking fish with these big ol’ teeth. Tough so
ns of bitches. Alright?”

  “Ok, ok. I get it. Once I got beat up by a Maori lass. Nearly broke both me arms.” He rubbed his face as if remembering it. “I’ll take your word for it. Still if it was me bride...”

  “Well she’s not.” Ward said, thinking to himself that it really was a mistake throwing in with this idiot. “In four days, it’ll be a full moon. Mary says that’ll be the best time for the tide and there’ll be a lotta natural light for her. I’ll be in charge of the wheelbarrows this week. I've been slipping old Puke Mouth Murray my ‘Roo steamer at dinner so he’s been lettin’ me take his place. You jus’ keep ol’ Smiley or Finn busy while I grab the lock picks and toss them in the barrow.”

  “Ok mate. So, what ‘xactly is the plan?”

  “When we get to the work shack I’ll shove the lock picks in my trousers. When we get back I’ll hide them behind those cinder blocks I cut out under me bunk. After midnight count I’ll pick the door locks and we’ll make a break for the main door then the west gate. I know you can run ya mouth but can ya swim?”

  “Like a bloody fish, mate.”

  “Good, ‘cause it’s a long way across the bay. I won’t be carrying your dirty ass if you can’t.”

  “Don’t worry ‘bout me mate.” Britten said climbing back up onto his bunk. “I’ll walk across a sea of broken glass to get outta this shit hole.”

  “Good.” Ward lay back down on his straw filled mattress. “That’s the spirit. Now close that pie hole of yours and get some shut eye. You’re going to need it.” Ward turned on his side and faced the bars that led out into the dingy corridor of the cell block. He could hear the distant sound of the guards jangling keys and boots pacing up and down the dirt floor of the long hallway. Occasionally the snoring or coughs of the other inmates could be heard. Once in a while the sobbing of a desperate and lonely soul could be heard. Ward hated being locked up. His own hubris had led to his capture and fast incarceration. He’d done many bad things in his outlaw lifetime and he deserved to be punished, just not like this, locked up like a dog. Locked up with an inbred cellmate like Britten. Not a fit ending for Captain Thunderbolt. Ward chuckled to himself then rolled onto his back.

  Mary was a good woman. She deserved better than him and he knew that. Ward couldn’t figure out why such a beautiful creature would waste her time and life on an outlaw such as him. The convict sighed, even though Mary was tough and a strong swimmer, he worried about her. It scared Ward to think that he might lose her in this wild escape attempt. All his concerns for her were greatly overshadowed by his concerns for himself. There was no way he was going to spend another month locked away on this damned island. Sometimes you sacrificed for those you cared about. Mary was that sacrifice.

  SARAH'S BAD NIGHT

  Solitary confinement, (The hole), four days later…

  “What the bleedin’ ‘ell is wrong with her?” Gimli, one of the prisons newer guards, asked as he bit into a sour apple. The crunchy fruit made a loud sound in the dimly lit corridor.

  “Got me mate. She’s been mewlin’ like that all damn day.” Carson, the senior of the two guards, shrugged and put his feet onto the top of the old desk that he sat behind. Both jailers were sitting around a big wooden desk playing Go Fish. Two rows of five heavy iron doors ran the length of the narrow hallway of the building known as ‘the hole’. Oil lamps were strung along the cinder block walls providing them with just enough light to play cards by.

  “You gonna play or worry ‘bout her?” Carson said letting out a loud, wet, cough. For the past two days he’d felt like he was coming down with a damn cold. Working an extra eight hours of overtime didn’t help him any. Shrugging it off he gave Gimli a ‘let’s get moving’ look.

  “Sorry.” Gimli glanced at the shitty hand he was just dealt. Carson had given him seven cards, all different. “Yeah, got any Kings?”

  “Only the one I gave yer Mum last night.” Carson chuckled then broke into a round of ragged coughing.

  “I really need to have a talk with her about the company she keeps.” Gimli took another bite from the apple. “You okay, mate?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, Gimli.” Carson put up a hand. “Just give me a second, been a long fookin’ day.” The older guard stood up and walked over to where a spittoon sat in the corner. He picked up the well-used urn and hacked up a glob of black mucus. Gimli almost lost his dinner at the sight of his partner coughing up dark goo into the spittoon.

  “Damn!” Carson wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat the spittoon back down on the floor. “That was a fookin’ rough one, ain’t gonna lie to ya.” Gimli could see the other man’s face was beet red.

  “Maybe you should go see the Doc?” Gimli asked, concerned for his partners well-being. “Maybe he could fix you up with some Laudanum. Get rid of that cough for ya and whatever that shit is your spittin’ up.”

  “Doc Stevenson is a butcher. I wouldn’t let the prick touch me. Hell, I wouldn’t even let him touch you. I heard that he got chased out of London for having certain relations with corpses.” He sat down and wiped some sweat from his forehead with his shirtsleeve. “Besides I feel better already.”

  “You don’t look better...already.” Gimli glanced back at his cards. “Relations with corpses?” The young guard leaned forward and almost whispered, afraid he might be overheard. “Really? He was buggering them?”

  “I don’t know about all that, Gimli.” Carson stifled a cough that hurt his throat. “Ask Smiley, he’s the one that told me. Why, is that somethin’ you interested in?” He took a swallow from what the younger guard assumed was ale. Carson always smelled of alcohol.

  “No! No! No!” Gimli leaned back in his chair. “I was just curious. What kinda man does something as dreadful as that?”

  “The kinda man that volunteers to work at a prison infirmary without being incarcerated himself. Now go fish!” Carson coughed and set down the copper mug. “Damn this cold!”

  “I really hate this game.”

  “We’ve just started mate.” Carson smiled. “Maybe if you’d done any time in Her Majesty's services you would appreciate this.”

  “It’s stupid.”

  “Stupid ‘cause yer losin’. Listen, I used to play this when I was posted in Afghanistan with the Major. It’s not stupid!”

  “I got a shit hand.” Gimli said, pulling another un-matching card from the deck. “I thought about joining the Army, once.”

  “Yeah, I needed to get out an’ see what the ol’ Empire had to offer. Ended up in the bloody desert.” Carson chuckled harshly. “You might be better off doin’

  what yer doin’ Gimli. You don’t have the memories of your mates being run through by sand heathens hauntin’ ya.”

  “Ya? Like I’m so much better off being stuck here with this trash.”

  “You talkin’ bout me or the convicts?”

  “Haven’t made my mind up yet.” Gimli grinned.

  “You have a two?” His partner asked.

  “Crap.” He slapped the two of spades down on the desktop.

  “Ha!” Carson slid the cards over to his side and made a small pile. “How about a Queen?”

  “Shit!” Gimli slammed his Queen of Hearts onto the well-used wood. The other guard grinned as he put the two cards together next to the others.

  “Can’t believe me luck.” Carson said as he glanced over at the stack of half-sovereigns they were playing for.

  “Cheatin’,” Gimli grumbled.

  “How do you cheat at Go Fish?” Carson looked back down at his hand. “How about a six?”

  “Nope, mate.” It was Gimli's turn to smile. “Go Fish.”

  The other man reached in the draw stack, seeing it wasn’t a six he slid it in with the others in his hand.

  “Your turn Gimli.” Carson suppressed a cough.

  “I need an ace.”

  “No mate. Go Fish.”

  “Damn it!”

  The strange moans and sobs from Sarah’s cell were so disturbi
ng, Gimli couldn’t concentrate. Annoyed, he slammed his cards down on the desktop and stood up.

  “Eh?” Carson let out another cough.

  “I can’t think with all her mewling.” Gimli said, glancing back at Sarah’s cell door.

  “Jeez mate,” Carson grumbled, as he tossed his hand of cards down onto the unfinished desk top. “Shut her up then so we can play.”

  “Yeah, maybe we should take her to the Doc?” Gimli pulled his uniform jacket off the back of his chair and shouldered it on. Quickly buttoning it up he grabbed the key ring from Carson's outstretched hand and skulked over to the iron door Sarah Clifford was locked behind. Gimli stopped for a minute, listening to the strange animal sounds that came from behind the cold, hard door. The noises the female convict was making sent a chill down his spine. Carson saw his partner wavering and tossed a half-sovereign at him from the pile on the desk.