This terrazza overlooked another swimming pool centred in more rows of apartment blocks and at the eastern end of what I assumed would be the main entrance and reception to the hotel. I skirted round the lift and used the row of stairs to descend to the pool on the other side. At the bottom it was clear that immediately below the terrazza was the main refectory, a huge room accessed by double glass doors that had been locked shut, but looking through which I could see the restaurant could comfortably house over 50 tables and chairs, and running down the entire length of one side of which was the most extensive buffet imaginable.
I tried to open the doors but they wouldn’t give, so I shook harder in the hope they were only locked by the central door key and not bolted into the ground. No good. If I wanted to get in there I was going to have to break them down. I decided now was not the time and headed towards the main reception.
The pool directly in front of the reception was identical to the one outside my room on the other side of the refectory, with an accompanying children’s’ pool beside that had been drained for some sort of works.
As I expected, the reception area was also completely empty. There was a table in the corner with numerous leaflets advertising trips to Timonfaya National Park, aqua-scuba, parasailing and other watersports, and chartered bus tours around the island. Another computer sat solemnly in the corner by a room marked ‘luggage’ but it was completely dead when I tried turning it on.
I went to the check in desk, leapt over and looked out at the room as if I were welcoming a new batch of tourists freshly arrived off the bus. Paperwork was strewn around a central desk with names and dates of arrival, and notes beside each one indicating to which rooms they had been designated. I scanned through all the names but didn’t recognise any of them.
Then a thought occurred to me. I checked the manifest for Room 704, the one I had woken up in. A family called Schuler had checked out on Thursday 3rd July but after that the room was due to be empty for two weeks until the Schoffenhausens arrived on the 16th.
In the back room behind the reception desk there was another computer, buzzing in standby, but it contained only digital records and order slips for the refectory. Again it didn’t seem to have any internet capability.
A cupboard containing around 300 room keys had been hung on the wall above a coffee dispenser, and helpfully there was a key at the bottom marked ‘master’. I took it and put it in the pocket of my beach shorts.
I returned to the refectory and grabbed a plate of food as I was starting to get very hungry. There were baskets of bread, obviously a couple of days old but still fresh enough to eat, and trays of baked beans and little pork sausages that hadn’t yet spoiled in the heat as it seemed the restaurant was climate controlled. There was also a liberal salad display with plenty of fresh tomatoes, cucumber, onions and some delicious green chili peppers steeped in vinegar. I stayed away from the meat which looked like pork in a cream sauce.
To the immediate left of the entrance to the room there was a row of drinks dispensers. There was chilled apple and orange juice, Coke and Fanta, and four taps emerging from a fake wooden barrel that promised red and white wine, beer and sangria. The thought crossed my mind that I may have died and ended up in purgatory or even heaven. The temptation to pour myself a vat of white wine to wash down the food was great, but I resolved to remain clear headed at least for the afternoon as I was thinking about leaving the hotel to explore the surroundings.
I walked around with my plate trying to decide where to sit, and the absurdity of the situation suddenly hit me again. What the hell did it matter where I sat? I plumped for a table in the middle of the room so I could see all exits and entrances equally.
Afterwards I went into the kitchen which was decked out in stainless steel and seemed to have every appliance necessary to cook a buffet meal for up to 500 people. There was a huge walk-in freezer stacked high with cuts of meat, frozen vegetables and a larder full of frozen bread rolls. I figured if I did have to stay here for a while I would definitely not go hungry.
On my way out I paused at the wine dispenser and thought ‘to hell with it’. My head was still thumping but I figured it couldn’t get any worse and I had a ready supply of drugs so I popped a couple more and poured a large white wine.
I took myself over to beside the pool and sat down on a sun lounger. The silence was infective. There
was not a single sound except the gentle lapping of the water. I finished my wine and again reflected on my situation. The sheer ludicrousness of it was mind boggling. The alcohol and the heat made me drowsy and I must have nodded off on the lounger.
I wish I hadn’t.
92%
Alarm. Oh shit.
The sound drilled through my skull as I awoke to a siren blaring in the twilight. The noise level was crashing considering the silence it had replaced. Utterly disorientated, I leapt up from the sun lounger and feverishly scanned the complex to see from where the sound was coming. As my eyes adjusted to the light level I noticed the phantom numbers flashing again in front of my line of vision, then dissipating almost immediately like a firework leaves its trace on your eyelids for a moment after exploding.
92%…
I didn’t have time to consider it as the alarm was shaking my bones. It was like a bloody World War II U-Boat siren or something. An enormous, piercing, prophetic AWOOOOOGA that must have been audible five miles away. My mind raced, then panicked, then went strangely calm as sometimes happens in situations of extremity when the mind takes over and keeps you sane.
Apart from my initial desire to stop the sound I was also thinking, what if it drew something towards it? I still hadn’t been outside the hotel complex and so had no idea what was out there. For all I knew, hordes of flesh-hungry zombies could be shuffling with extreme ambition toward this awful night-splitting din. It seemed to be emanating from the rooftops as the sound dipped and ducked like an aural zephyr depending on where I ran. It was echoing off the walls of the apartments, bouncing between the square formation and had nowhere to go, which only served to amplify it. As I ran around experimentally trying to locate the source I noticed it seemed to be loudest as I approached the reception area. Scanning the roof, which was made up almost entirely of glass and shaped in a pyramid formation to allow maximum light penetration, my eyes hit upon two small speakers mounted on the side of the supporting strut that held up the glass sheeting.
Bingo.
I pushed through the entrance doors to the reception and searched frantically for the staircase that would allow me to ascend to the second storey, but I was damned if I could find it anywhere.
The noise was becoming unbearable and I was convinced that if I wasn’t alone on this island I would soon know about it as who or whatever was out there flocked to investigate. Something inside me told me that I needed to cut the alarm pretty sharpish for that reason. But mostly for my own sanity.
I was still in a state of shock at this point, clutching desperately at numerous straws that would provide some reasoning or explanation for what was happening to me. My head had started throbbing again and it was all I could do to stop myself from leaning over and vomiting all over a large ficus plant in the vestibule. Try as I might I could not see any stairs. The reception was two storeys in height but was open to the ceiling above. And that was made up of the enormous glass pyramid, so there was effectively no need to ascend in here.