The Zombie Saga (Book 2): Burn The Dead (Purge) (10 page)

Still no response.

“Is there anyone else in
the house?”

Still nothing.

Not a good sign.

“Can’t we just shoot them
in case?” I whisper to Andrew. “In the arm. It’s only a tranq.”

“Yeah, we can. But not the
kid.”

“Why not?”

“Tranqs are too strong. It
might kill him.”

Andrew fires his weapon,
hitting the man in the left shoulder.

The man stays on his feet.

He then lets out a deep,
guttural moan, and then drops facedown on the floor when Andrew unloads a tranq
into his skull.

Suddenly the little boy
bolts towards us, mouth wide, howling like a banshee, arms outstretched. Once
he’s in the bedroom, I see his dismal eyes, his grey skin tone, the bite mark
on his forearm. Without another thought, I shoot him between the eyes. From
sheer momentum, the boy’s sedated body lunges towards me, knocking me backwards
onto the bed.

Andrew heaves him quickly
off me and throws him down on the floor with a loud thud.

“Are you okay?” Andrew
asks, pulling me up onto my feet.

At first I think I am, but
when I see the little boy, wearing just a blue T-shirt and a pair of
Ninja
Turtle
pyjamas bottoms, his face buried into the carpet, I suddenly feel
lightheaded, unsteady on my feet. I retreat to the bed, struggling to catch my
breath.

“Take a sec, Cath” Andrew
offers. “Have a little breather.”

“He was so young.”

“I know. But that’s the
job, I’m afraid.”

“He was just a
bloody
kid
,” I say, my words turning into a sob, “
it’s not right.
”

Andrew sits next to me,
his arm over my shoulder. He removes my helmet and drops it on the bed behind
me. He does the same for his own. “I hate these fucking things,” he says,
clearly attempting the impossible task of lightening the mood. “They’re ugly,
hot, and I can’t see fuck all.”

“
It shouldn’t have
happened to him,
” I weep, my words barely audible. “
Not to a child.
”

“I know,” he replies,
shushing me like a baby. “It’s horrible sometimes. Especially when there’s kids
involved. But you know what? The way I look at it, for every kid we have to
take out, we may save five in its place. Now I’m no maths expert, but I say
that ratio sounds pretty good to me.”

I know he’s right. I know
it’s the job, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Especially when all I want to
do is go home. But I can’t. Not yet. I’m all the backup Andrew has. I could
never abandon him. No matter how petrified, how low I get.

Sniffing loudly, I manage
a thin smile. Not from happiness, or politeness, but of acceptance. I’ve got a
job to do. These people need our help. I’ve gotta dig deep and suck it up.

This is a warzone, and I’m
a soldier on the frontline.

“Let me tell you
something, Cath,” Andrew says. “Something I’ve never told any of the guys
before.”

“What’s that?”

“Dead people—
they scare
the living shit out of me
.”

I let out a short chuckle.

“It’s not funny, Cath,” he
says, playfully. “Yeah, after a few years they get a little more bearable. But
I still hate the sight of them. They still freak me out. And
fuck me
do
they give me nightmares. Even now.”

“Really?”

“Damn right they do. I
can’t tell you how many times I’ve woken up in a cold sweat.”

“Well, that’s not exactly
making me feel any better. I thought it was supposed to get easier.”

“Yeah, it does. In time.
But my point is, it’s normal to be afraid.”

“Who says I’m afraid?”

Andrew snorts. “
Cath
,
even with the visor on I can see how frightened you are.”

I shake my head. “That
obvious is it?”

“Yeah, but only to me.
Because I know how you’re feeling. But you wouldn’t be human if you didn’t get
scared—if you didn’t get upset shooting down a kid.” He nudges me. “And I only
like working with humans.”

I return a nudge. “Thanks,
Andrew. You’re a good guy.”

“I know,” he gets up off
the bed. “Just don’t tell the guys for fuck’s sake.
Or
my ex-wife for
that matter.”

Getting up, I unclip a
muzzle and cable-ties from my belt. “Let’s get these two in the van, and get
the hell back to that church.”

“Sounds like a plan. If
you want, I’ll secure the little boy.”

“No, it’s all right,” I
say, shaking my head. “I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure? I don’t
mind.”

“No, I need to get past
this. I’ll be fine.”

Andrew smiles. “Good
girl.”

Kneeling down over the
boy, I start to turn him around. His eyes are closed, which makes him appear as
nothing more than a sleeping child.
Peaceful
. Somehow it makes it a
little more endurable. I think if his eyes were wide open I’d have to pass. I
wrap the muzzle around his mouth and chin, and then buckle up the back. Once I’ve
fastened his wrists together, I move down to his ankles. Just as I do, I hear a
low growl coming from the doorway. Turning, I see Andrew on his back, out on
the landing, pinned to the carpet by a woman. I leap to my feet, gun in hand
and fire three tranqs into the back of her head. The woman goes limp over
Andrew’s body. Racing over to them, I pull the woman off him.

I gasp in horror when I
see the blood pouring out of Andrew’s neck.

“Oh my God!” I scream.
“What the fuck!” Dropping to my knees next to him, I swiftly place both hands
down on the bite, not even sure how much pressure to apply, or even if I’m
meant to. But I do it anyway. It’s instinct. Andrew tries to speak but his
words are a gurgling mess. I shush him, tell him not to speak, tell him that
everything will be okay, that we’re going to get him to a hospital.

He’s not going to die
on my watch.

But as the blood begins to
seep through the thick fingers of my gloves, pooling under his head, only then
does it dawn on me that his helmet is off. Glancing at the bed I see it, next
to mine.

Please let him be all
right.

Don’t let him die.

Don’t let him die
because of me.

My
vision blurs from the tears, coursing down my cheeks. Andrew’s eyes have
started to close. “Stay with me!”
Got to get him out of here. Right now
.
I put my gun back in the holster; Andrew’s weapon is on the carpet, the torch
at the top still on. Pushing his limp body into a seated position, I hook my
arms under his armpits. “You’re gonna be fine. I promise.” I drag his heavy
body backwards, inch by inch, towards the stairs, looking over my shoulder for
guidance.
Got to get out of this fucking house. Out of Crandale
. I make
my way down the stairs, struggling to stay balanced with every step. “You’re
doing great. Nearly there. I’m gonna get you to a hospital.”

My foot misses a step.

I plummet down the last
half of the stairs, taking Andrew with me. My body crashes onto the hallway
carpet, cracking my head as Andrew’s full weight lands on top of me.

Still conscious, I manage
to push him off me. Just as I wriggle free, I hear him whisper something. “Say
it again, Andrew,” I ask him, leaning over to listen.

“
An…tiviral
.”

Shit! The antiviral! I
forgot!

I unhook my injection gun,
and take out the bottle of clear liquid from the metal case. I clip the
antiviral to the top of the gun, and pierce the needle into his neck, opposite
his wound. I push the trigger and the bottle empties in an instant.

Please, God, let it
work!

Just as I reach for his
walkie-talkie to call for back up, the kitchen door flies open, and a flood of
Necs come charging at me.

“Oh, shit!”

Standing with my back
against the front door, I fire, emptying the tranq magazine in seconds. But
there’re too many.
Need to reload
. Just before I can get the pack
clipped onto the top, they’re perched over Andrew’s body. I fire another
magazine of tranqs into the Necs, but it’s too late—his throat has been ripped
clean out.

Too late to save him
.
He’s gone
.

Have to leave him
.

Four more Necs race
towards me. One trips over Andrew’s body, the others step over him, arms thrust
forward, teeth snarling. I swing my empty gun, hitting a dead woman in the
face. I do the same to an elderly man. With Andrew’s blood still dripping from
my gloves, the handle slips out of my grip when I swing the gun for a third
time. Leaving the weapon on the floor, I open the front door and rush to the
van. With no time even to slam the door behind me, they scramble out of the
house, just a few feet away. On the lit up street, I can see another flock of Necs
staggering towards me as I wrench the passenger door open and dive inside the
van. I slam the door shut, trapping the fingers of a Nec.

Frantically locking each
door, I see a swarm of bodies surround the vehicle, clawing at the curved
bonnet, beating livid fists against the windows until their hands bleed,
smearing congealed blood over the glass.

I’m suffocating!

Need to drive out of
here
.

I climb over to the
driver’s side and reach for the ignition—but the keys are missing!

Shit! Where the hell
are they? Andrew! He still has them! I’m fucked!
I squeeze the steering wheel tightly as the panic washes
over me like boiling acid.

The radio!

Unclipping the receiver
from the two-way radio, I bring it to my mouth, push the button on the side and
speak.

“Come in, Darren,” I say,
choking with panic. “This is Catherine Woods. Is there anybody there? Over.”

No response. Just static.

“Come in
anybody
.
This is Catherine Woods. I need help. We have a Cleaner down. Please, someone.
Anyone. We need help urgently. Over.”

Still nothing.

“
Please. Darren
,” I
beg, my body cramping as the noise outside increases. “If you can hear me, I’m
halfway up The Mount, still in Crandale. I’m in desperate need of assistance.
Come
in. Over
.”

More static.

“Shit!”

Where the fuck has everyone
gone?

I quickly change the
frequency. “Come in, Control, this is Catherine Woods,” I tilt my badge up from
my vest to see the details, “ID number 7762. I need urgent assistance. Over.”

“
Roger that, Catherine,
”
a man’s voice replies through the speaker. “
Reading you loud and clear.
Over.”

I gasp in relief, closing
my eyes briefly. “Oh thank God. I need help right away. Please. Over.”

“
Are you still inside
Crandale? Over.
”

“Yes. I’m trapped inside
the van, halfway up The Mount, and I’m surrounded by Necs. Andrew Whitt is
dead. And I can’t get through to the other Cleaners. What the hell is going on?
Over.”

“
We don’t know what’s
happened, Catherine. We lost communication about an hour ago. So you need to
sit tight and wait for help to arrive. Over.
”

“How long will that take?
Over.”

“
I don’t know yet. I’m
sorry. For the time being, you’ll have to ride it out. Over.
”

“That’s bullshit!” I snap,
as I watch more and more Necs reach the van, drawn to the loud uproar. “You
can’t just leave me here to die!”

“
No one is leaving you
anywhere. Help is coming, I promise you. But you have to keep calm—and keep
your voice down. You’ll only draw more of them to you. Over.
”

I stare at the radio,
listening to the riot outside. “Over and out,” I say in defeat, dropping the receiver
and watching it swing wildly above the dashboard.

I can’t breathe.

The sight of so many,
loose, is too much to process, to stomach, and I can hear the captured Necs
squirming in the back of the van. I want to just curl up into a ball and close
my eyes tightly, and wait for the morning to come, for the nightmare to be
over. I want Dad to tell me that there’s nothing to worry about, that monsters
aren’t real, that they’re all in my head. But they
are
real.
Very
real. And they have teeth dripping with disease.

The van is juddering from
the bulk of the Necs. I close my eyes and wait for it to all be over. Wait for
the Necs to get bored and wander off to find someone else to feed on. Wait for
the cavalry to come and rescue me.

Or simply wait to die.

I can’t block out the
howls, can’t shut out the scratching, the thrashing. All I can do is
nothing
.

But then an electric shock
of clarity hits.

My mobile phone!

I can call HQ. Maybe speak
with Roger directly.

I pat myself down, hoping
to feel its weight in my top pocket.
Shit! It’s not here
. Must have left
it back at HQ when I changed.
Andrew’s phone!
I scan the dashboard, the
cubbyhole under the stereo, and the side of the door. I don’t see it. Reaching
across the gearstick, I open the glove compartment, scooping out its contents
over the floor. A map. A tiny screwdriver set. A bottle of alcohol gel. Some
tissues. No gun. No helmet. And no bloody phone. Exhaling loudly, I wipe the
sweat from my forehead, unable to think of a way out of this hell.
Wish I
knew how to hotwire a bloody car.

These windows won’t hold
forever. Need to get the hell out of here. Now!

Think, Cath!

I look up, hoping to see a
sunroof, but there isn’t one. I look behind at the metal separating me from the
back.
Maybe I can detach it, and then escape through the back doors.
I
push on it hard, but nothing happens. “
Shit!
” At the centre, I notice a
small rectangular panel, about twice the size of a cat-flap, with screws at
each corner.
I can get through there.
Diving to the floor of the passenger
seat, I pick up the screwdriver set. The screws are big so I pluck out the
largest screwdriver I find, and it’s still about half the size it should be.
But it’ll have to do. Slowly, I twist out each screw, letting them drop down to
the floor. Once each one is out, the panel still doesn’t fall off. Removing my
blood-soaked gloves, I dig my fingernails into the rim of the panel and start
to pull.

It finally pops off!

Looking through the
opening, I see the mass of piled up bodies.
Maybe there’s even more than
thirty
. The bottom layer of bagged-up Necs has been completely buried by
the others. The tranqs have already started to wear off on a few. I watch in
repugnance as they try to wriggle free from their restraints, their cries
stifled by the muzzles. The sound of growls increases, and the van shudders
even more from angry fists pounding at the doors and windows. Taking a few deep
breaths, I scurry through the opening like a rabbit. Straightaway, I drop down
onto a Nec. Luckily this one is still sedated. Crawling over another, then
another, my knee digs into the cheek of an elderly lady. She’s fully awake;
eyes wide with ravenous hunger. Need to keep moving. Don’t look at them.
They
can’t hurt me
.

Suddenly, I hear the sound
of a cable-tie snapping. “Oh, shit!
”
Got to move now!
Reaching
the door, I clasp the handle.
This is it, Cath. You can do this.
Come
on!
I take another deep breath.

One… Two…

Three!

I shove the door wide
open. It slams into a Nec, launching him backwards onto the road. Without a
second thought, I’m out of the van and running as fast as I can down the
street, heading for the church. I don’t turn back, not for anything, not for
anyone. Not even when I hear a horde of Necs chasing behind. Have to keep
moving. Don’t stop.

Ahead, I see the school.
As I pass the fence, heart thrashing against my chest, another two Necs spot me
and join the pursuit. Don’t think I’ve run so fast in my life. My knee is
throbbing, but it’s the least of my worries. I see the church in the distance.
Can’t see any other Cleaner vans. At the gate, I scramble through, smacking my
hip painfully on the frame as I enter the graveyard. Just as I’m about to
sprint up the path, I see four Necs kneeling over a Cleaner’s motionless body.
His helmet off, his throat spewing blood. Torn flesh is hanging from the mouth
of a Nec, blood dripping from its teeth.

Oh, shit! We’ve lost
control!

Before the Necs are able
to spot me, I turn and scurry back through the gate. Once I step onto Richmond
again, the herd of Necs is just behind me. Tearing down the hill, I head
towards Rose Avenue and the barricade. Momentum forces me to slam my chest into
the side of a parked car—knocking me backwards—but I somehow manage to stay on
my feet. The car alarm starts to wail, front lights flashing, drawing attention
to another group of Necs coming out of a house on Rose Avenue. I backtrack
slightly down a pitch-black lane.

Exhaustion and the pain in
my knee are slowing me down. Need to hide somewhere, let them pass me. Barging
one of the lane doors open with my shoulder, I scamper into a garden. As I’m
about to slam the door behind me, the garden light-sensor comes on, and I’m met
by another Nec—a man—ambling on the lawn. He spots me and sprints towards me. I
run to the neighbouring wall, but it’s too high to scale. Leaping up onto a
plant pot, I’m able to reach the top of the wall, but then the Nec catches hold
of my vest, dragging me backwards. Losing my footing, I crash-land on the Nec,
its jaws clamping down on the thick fabric of my suit. I try to wriggle and
twist free, but he’s too strong—too fresh.
Too famished
. Driving my
elbow into his ribs does nothing. All I can do is squirm.

I’m tempted to scream for
help. But I can’t. The garden door is hanging wide open. Can’t let the other
Necs know I’m in here. With every ounce of strength I can gather, I manage to
free myself from his jaws and roll away. My kneecap grinds as I get to my feet,
heading towards the wall again. Leaping back up onto the plant pot, my knee
gives way, and I slam my head against the wall.

Suddenly I’m lying on my
back, looking up at the stars of the cold night sky.

My vision starts to cloud.

Can’t keep my eyes open.

Have to get up.

Need to get…

The pain in my knee fades
to nothing.

The throb in my head
vanishes.

All I feel is the weight
of something crawling, slithering over me.

And the starry night
sky is replaced by the eyes of a dead man.