The Quiet Island

The Quiet Island

Trigger Warning: Mild gore, references to death, olives.

When Flo heard the car approaching, she darted off the road and crouched low behind an olive tree. She didn’t dare move. At thirteen, she knew how dangerous it was to be out here alone. 

The car rattled past, the sound fading in the distance, leaving only the hum of crickets. 

As she stood up, the ground beneath her tilted, like the deck of a sinking ship, and she had to clutch the tree for balance. Another dizzy spell. They’d been hitting her all morning. She needed to find food - and soon. 

She stepped back onto the road and started walking. 

After about an hour, as the sun crept over the mountains, Flo spotted an orange grove a few paces off the road. 

The ground was littered with fruit, but most had passed their best. She saw a couple of ripe ones still clinging to their branches, and after a few attempts, she managed to jump high enough to reach them.  

She sat down in the dappled shade and demolished the fruits. The juices ran down her chin, but she didn’t care. She hadn’t eaten real food in weeks.

After a short rest - and a brief pee in the bushes - Flo continued along the road. She didn’t know how much further she’d have to walk, but she knew that so long as she kept the mountains behind her, she’d be alright. 

By mid-morning, Flo had given up wiping the sweat from her brow, surrendering her eyes to the stinging. She wanted to rest but knew that the heat would only get worse as the day wore on. 

Besides, her parents would have surely woken up by now and discovered she had gone. Would they come looking for her? Would they be brave enough? Could they be brave enough?

Flo pressed on, the trees thinning until there was nothing besides a few fragrant shrubs and yellowed grass. She grabbed a handful of thyme and rubbed it with her fingers, the sharp scent cutting through the dry air.

Her eyes widened when she noticed the view ahead of her. 

“There it is,” she said, running a hand through her hair, which was now thick and greasy. In front of her, not half a mile away, was the sparkling waters of the Mediterranean Sea. 

“Eat that, Duke of Edinburgh,” she said and laughed.

In the distance, she could make out a small fishing village, with its rocky pier and shallow sandy beach. There were no boats at the pier, nor any out at sea. There were no planes in the sky, either. It was all so eerie. 

Flo had arrived in Crete less than two months ago. She’d been brimming with excitement for her first holiday abroad. But now, after everything that had happened, it seemed like a distant memory. 

She paused for a moment, her gaze drifting to a tiny island not far from the shore. It was too small to be inhabited by people, but she could see specks of birds circling above. She wondered if it was possible to swim to the island. Back in school, she’d earned her 200-meter badge - which she was quite proud of - though this distance looked at least twice that.

Pulling herself away from the view, she followed the road.

It twisted and turned and descended toward the town, and eventually, the surface transitioned from gravel to tarmac. The first building Flo came across was a row of holiday villas, each a different pastel colour. 

She approached one of them, standing on her tiptoes so she could see over the stone wall and into the garden. There was a swimming pool, but the water was murky green. 

A body floated facedown in the center. 

She wandered over to the next villa, which didn’t have a wall, and was relieved to find that the swimming pool was empty. Unfortunately, the sunbed next to it was not. 

A woman lay flat on the bed, her arms dangling on either side. She wore a black bikini and her spilled guts glistened in the sunlight, festering and dissected by the feral cats. 

Flo turned to leave, but after a few paces, her morbid curiosity got the better of her. She glanced back and stiffened. 

The woman was sitting bolt upright. 

Flo swallowed hard and hurried along the road. Behind her, she heard a low gurgle, wet and bubbling. 

The village was only a short walk from the villa. It had a central road that led directly to the seafront. Along the road were numerous shops that sold what her dad would call “tourist tat.” Trying her luck, Flo stepped into one of them at random.

Inside, the air was thick and stale. Flo scanned the shelves, hoping for something - anything - edible. The place, however, had been ransacked. What was left had little use to her now: fridge magnets, postcards, swimming goggles, ceramic figures, tourist guides offering the “hidden gems” of Crete, hand-crafted wooden coasters and honey dippers, and-

There. 

Right at the back of the store, perched high on the top shelf, stood a large jar of stuffed green olives. Flo didn’t care much for olives, but it was not the time to be picky. 

She walked down the aisle toward the shelves and reached upward, but it was no good. She needed to get higher. 

She found an empty crate nearby. Using it as a step, she touched the base of the jar with her fingertips. It would have to do. 

She began to edge the jar when something stirred from somewhere inside the store.

Flo turned her head, her eyes darting from aisle to aisle, searching for the source of the sound.

Nothing.

Alright, she thought, just grab the olives, and get the hell out of here. 

She continued maneuvering the jar, inch by inch until she could get her hands under it. Got it. 

She lowered the jar and tucked it safely under her arm. 

As she climbed down, her vision suddenly blurred, a million black flies swarming behind her eyelids. The ground seemed to shift beneath her feet, and the next thing she knew, she was lying flat on her back. 

Dazed, Flo tilted her head to one side, her gaze lingering on the smashed jar of olives beside her, the brine pooling across the floor. 

Something crunched over the glass. 

Flo snapped her head up and gasped.

A slender, crooked figure was shuffling toward her, walking over the shards of glass. She was an elderly woman. Her skin was pale and torn like tissue paper. Her sunken eyes were a clouded grey and unblinking.

Flo scrambled to her feet, scoring her palms on the broken glass as she stood, though she barely felt the pain. 

The woman inched closer. Her jaw hung open, her lips cracked and bloodless. A faint groan rose from her throat like a rusted hinge. 

The old woman stood between Flo and the exit. 

Flo hesitated, her eyes flickered between the woman and the doorway. She picked up the crate and shoved it into the elderly woman. 

The woman staggered back, arms flailing. 

Flo tossed the crate aside and made a break for the exit. She was almost there when the light from the doorway darkened. 

A hulking creature stepped into the store. It stood six feet tall, its chest and shoulders matted with hair. Blistered skin peeled away in leathery strips, scorched by the heat. The creature gave a deep, sickening groan as it lumbered toward Flo. Behind it, more zombies filtered in. Two, three, four. So many.

Flo stepped backward, but slipped on a smear of suncream, landing hard on the floor. She yelled in pain. She grabbed the shelves and pulled herself up, knocking over a stand of sunglasses that clattered to the floor.

Flo spun around and froze.

The elderly woman stood at the end of the aisle, blocking her path. 

“No,” Flo whispered. A wave of hopelessness overwhelmed her. She pressed her back against the wall, her body trembling. The undead closed in. 

Flo squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself, waiting for the inevitable. One second, two seconds, three seconds, four-

She opened her eyes. 

The zombie, the big one, stood in front of her, the stench was suffocating. 

Flo held her breath, remaining completely still.

She watched with confusion as it turned its back to her, looking down at where the sunglasses had landed. The others slowed, too. 

Flo frowned. What was happening?

She waved her hand in front of one of them. It didn’t even flinch.

They must have been attracted to the sound, Flo thought. They're not interested in me.

Flo slipped past the mob - they looked almost as confused as Flo felt - and stepped out into the blinding sun.

I’m invisible.

For the next couple of hours, Flo embraced her newfound superpower. She raided the shops and managed to scavenge a box of honey-soaked pastry nests and two cans of Greek lemonade.

She consumed the lot in one sitting, before moving to other shops, trying on dresses and sunhats and expensive jewelry. She grew strangely accustomed to the zombies - now that they didn’t seem to see her as a meal.

When she grew tired, Flo headed to the beach. She laid a towel on an empty sunbed and sat down.

A few zombies rested on nearby beds, cooking in the heat. Another was crawling across the sand, a cockroach scuttled across its back. A young boy, who looked to be of a similar age to Flo, laid flat on a paddle board that had washed up to shore. A little girl, just a toddler, sat upright in the shallow water. She was wearing two armbands but one had deflated. The gentle waves kept pushing her over, but she sprung back up - a loose tooth, unsteady but clinging into place. 

Flo kicked off her shoes and let her toes sink into the sand. She pulled out a bottle of sun lotion from her tote bag and applied it to her bare arms and legs, careful not to get it on the plaster covering her left ankle. She dried her hands on the towel, then pulled off the plaster - no need to hide it anymore. The bite mark had swollen since yesterday, but she could still make out the dental impression of the old man in her ankle, it reminded her of the clay impressions she’d had made for her braces a few months prior. 

She sighed, then laid back on the sunbed. 

It was stupid. She was stupid. She’d gone and gotten herself bitten and ruined everything. 

Two swallows danced in the sky. Flo watched as they flew out to sea toward the island. 

Flo closed her eyes, her mind spinning. I had no choice. I had to run away. I couldn’t let them see me like this. 

She tried to focus on the sounds. The fizz of the sea foam. The rise of the crickets. The chirp of the birds. 

The soft groans of the undead. 

Flo drifted to sleep.

When Flo woke, the shadows were stretched long across the sand, and the sound of the crickets had died back.

Flo glanced at her ankle. Her stomach twisted. 

Dark purple veins had formed around the wound. She traced them with trembling fingers, her chest tightening. 

Not long now.

“I’m sorry,” Flo whispered, tears forming in her eyes. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

She pulled the towel from under her and wrapped it over her shoulders. She hugged her knees to her chest, shivering despite the lingering warmth.

Everything ached; ached like it did when she’d had the covid vaccine last Autumn. 

She pictured herself as a zombie, imagining her eyes turning grey and wandering about aimlessly. She imagined seeing her parents, and seeing the pain and horror on their faces when they recognized her. 

Then, she imagined her younger brother, his eyes lighting up when he saw her - too young to understand. She reached out to him, as if to hug him, but instead pulled him close and opened her mouth to bite-

No. Stop it. 

Flo stood up, staggering to the water’s edge. 

I can’t let that happen. I won’t. 

She went over to the paddle board. She tipped it, letting the body of the boy slip into the water. 

She climbed onto the board, her hands shaking as she picked up the paddle. The sea stretched out before her, painted in hues of pink and orange, and on the horizon was the island. 

She pushed off, letting the board drift from the shore. 

This was where she was meant to go all along, she knew this now. To the island. 

“It's going to be ok,” she whispered to the waves. 

The island loomed ahead, its rocky cliffs sharp against the twilight sky. Gulls cried overhead, their calls echoing across the water.

I can’t hurt them now.