Burn The Dead Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Jenkins, Steven

  A sudden feeling of paranoia hits me. What if they force their way into here? What’s to stop them? Should I have barricaded the windows and front door with planks of wood, like in the movies?

  No. That’s ridiculous. Where the hell would I find all that wood? And nails? Don’t think I even have a single nail, let alone a boxful.

  Or a hammer.

  I look a little further up the street. I see a few more lurking along the pavements. Don’t think I’d get all that far if I went out the front. I’d be swamped in seconds. I’ll have to use the garden walls. At least I’m only likely to have to take out one or two at the most.

  Only one or two?

  I move to the other side of the window and look down the street. Five Necs are scattered about, shuffling aimlessly along the road and pavement, just waiting for some idiot to show his face. One of the Necs, a man, stops by the front door of a house. Something has caught his eye. He looks up at an open window above. I can hear the sound of his deathly cries from here.

  The Nec suddenly drops to his knees.

  And then onto his back.

  “What the hell was that?” I mutter, pushing my face closer to the glass.

  A second Nec, this time a woman, runs over to the motionless Nec. She’s also looking up at the open window.

  The woman collapses, smashing her face into the edge of the pavement.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  Focusing on the open window, I manage to catch a glimpse of a tall figure, wearing a white dressing gown.

  It’s a woman.

  Janet Webber.

  And she has a tranquiliser gun.

  Part IV

  Living With The Dead

  20

  I grab the largest kitchen knife, and then bring it over to the front door, bracing before opening it. As soon as I do, I can hear the piercing screams of Necs close by. My hand is trembling as I open it a little more.

  What the hell are you doing, Rob? You’re an idiot. There’s a good chance she hasn’t even seen Sammy. What if you get yourself killed on the way over? How exactly is that gonna help him? Is it worth the risk?

  Damn right it is!

  What choice do I have? I’m gonna lose my mind if I stay in here a minute longer. Doing nothing. Plus, she has a tranq gun.

  All I’ve got is a blunt bread knife.

  I have to get to her.

  I take in a couple of deep breaths, and then step out onto the pavement. The cold winter air hits me in the face. It feels good, almost blocking out the gut-wrenching fear that’s pulsating through my body. With the knife pointed outwards, I carefully close the front door, and then creep along the wall. I reach Anna’s car and crouch down, viewing Janet Webber’s house through the car windows. I see two Necs wandering along the pavement about a hundred metres down, and another two just sitting against one of the houses, as if conserving energy.

  How the fuck am I supposed to do this? If the Necs don’t spot me, there’s a bloody good chance Janet will shoot me. How is she supposed to know that I’m not one of them? If I shout up to her, tell her who I am, then I’m bound to draw attention. And if the Necs don’t eat me, then I’m just gonna lead them straight into her house.

  Nothing’s bloody easy.

  I scan the street up and down, hoping to see something to spark off an epiphany, the perfect strategy. But all I see are more Necs, maybe ten or twelve limping around the cars, as if patrolling Marbleview.

  I’m fucked.

  Totally fucked!

  Think, Rob. How did you get Mark Turner’s attention when he was grounded for two weeks? Long before mobile phones were around?

  Stones.

  You threw a stone at his window.

  Looking down at the curb, I see a few small stones. I gather them up and slither towards the next car. Then the next, until I’m opposite to Janet’s house. Way too close to a couple of Necs though. If I could throw a little better, then maybe I wouldn’t have to be so near. All those years of knowing that my throwing skills were shit, and telling myself that it didn’t matter—well fuck me, it matters today.

  I launch the first stone up at the top window. It misses, hitting the windowsill, and then it drops down onto the road. I freeze as I wait for the stone to grab a Nec’s attention.

  It doesn’t. Thank God.

  I sigh in relief. Taking another stone from my hand, I straighten a little, hoping to get a better shot a second time. I throw the stone as if my life depended on it.

  It hits the window, bounces off, and then lands on a car bonnet. The noise of metal manages to alert a wandering Nec. I drop to the floor, rolling nearly underneath the car to hide. I can hear its footsteps scrape lazily against the concrete from across the road. Then the sound changes. I can now hear the sound of hard tar rubbing against its shoe as it crosses towards me.

  The sound is getting closer.

  And closer.

  It finally stops at the other side of the car. Gingerly, I roll even further under the car until I’m staring up at a rusty exhaust pipe. I imagine terrible images of a rotting Nec crouching down to peer under, and then crawling towards me; its teeth snarling; mouth foaming with rage.

  But it doesn’t.

  Instead, the Nec just carries on stumbling down the street in the direction of Rose Avenue. Closing my eyes, I sigh as relief washes over me. I wait about a minute and then roll back out onto the pavement. I pinch a third stone and draw my arm back. I try to steady my breathing as I aim it at the window. Releasing the stone, it catapults across the road and hits, smack-bang, in the centre of the window. I silently celebrate by clenching a fist tightly. Finally, a little luck!

  Suddenly a figure comes to the window. It’s Janet Webber. I’m shaking with excitement and panic. Panic at the thought that she won’t see me, or even let me through the door. For all she knows I could be infected. I stand up and foolishly wave the knife up to her. She sees me immediately.

  Unfortunately, she’s not the only one.

  Turning my head, I see four Necs running at me; screaming with feral rage. My eyes broaden in horror. What the fuck have I done? How could I have been so stupid? Their screams alert two more. I start to run down Marbleview. But before I get even fifty-metres, I run into another three Necs bursting out from a house. Sprinting around them, I slam my chest into a parked car. I fall down to the pavement, onto my back, losing the knife in the process. I can’t breathe; the wind knocked out of me. The two decrepit Necs are on top of me, their jaws snapping at my skin. I kick hysterically, twisting my body around as they try to move past my legs. Even through the snarls and desperate moans, I can hear the sound of heavy footsteps coming towards me. It’s only a matter of time before I’m finished. I manage to grab the wrists of one Nec and push him clear of me. Another bites down hard. I can feel its jaws lock down around my leg like a pit-bull. I convulse hard as if in the middle of an epileptic fit, and the Nec lets go of my leg. I kick out as hard as I can and catch it square in the jaw. I hear the bone shatter. The morning sunlight is fading. The sheer volume of bodies has blocked it out. I’m surrounded. No matter how hard I fight, there’s just too many of them. With every ounce of strength left in me, I try to stand. But the weight is too much.

  This is it.

  I’ve never been so terrified; so unprepared for death.

  Not now.

  Not like this.

  Not when I’ve—

  I hear a faint thud. Then another. And another…

  The sunlight begins to seep through again. Suddenly I’m locked in battle with just two. Exhausted beyond comprehension, I struggle to free myself from their stronghold. The stench of rotten bodies pulls me back from the darkness. I’m still alive. And I hear a voice. It’s a woman’s voice.

  “Get up!” she cries. “Come on! Get up! Now! Move!”

  Without even realising, the two Necs are no longer moving. I push their heavy, dead bodies from me, and scramble to my feet. I see Janet Webber, wearing a white dressing gown, driv
ing her foot down into the face of a Nec. She has a gun in her right hand. Disorientated, I’m unable to find the words to express how grateful I am. So relieved. As if I’d died and been pulled back down to earth by a giant white angel.

  “Follow me, Rob,” she says, pulling out a blood-soaked slipper from the Nec’s face, and then motioning with her head for me to go with her. She then runs off to her house. I follow closely behind, still struggling to comprehend what just happened.

  Inside the house, Janet slams the front door shut and slides a large bolt-lock across. She even puts on the chain. Groaning loudly, clearly drained, she runs her fingers through her long, wavy ginger hair.

  I slide down the wall, into a sitting position on the cold tiled floor. I sigh loudly, still worn-out from the attack. I can feel my body slowly begin to loosen up. I look down at my hands; they’re shaking uncontrollably. I breathe slowly to settle them. But just as they begin to steady, I suddenly remember about the Nec that bit down on my leg. The Nec’s spit-covered bite mark is still visible on my trousers. I straighten out the crease mark as I inspect for blood and holes.

  There are none.

  Unconvinced, I leap to my feet and unclip my belt buckle, and then pull down my trousers. After thoroughly examining both legs, unbelievably I can’t find a single mark. I shake my head in astonishment.

  Thank God for thick trousers.

  “You’re lucky,” Janet says, her lofty body propped up against the wall, towering me without effort. “I thought they’d bitten you. It’s a miracle they didn’t tear you to pieces.”

  The horrid memory of being pinned to the ground sends a cold shudder through my body. I try to shake it off as I pull up my trousers. “Tell me about it. I can’t thank you enough, Janet. I thought I was done for. I thought…”

  “Well, you’re safe now, Rob. They ain’t coming through that bloody door. Not if I’ve got any breath left in me.”

  I nod, even though the last thing I feel is safe. Safer maybe. But definitely not safe. “Thank God for that gun,” I say; attention still very much on the front door, and whether that lock and chain is enough to keep them out.

  “Yeah—don’t I know it,” she replies, slipping the tranq gun into her deep, dressing-grown pocket. She pulls out a packet of cigarettes and a blue lighter from the other pocket. She slides one out, puts it into her mouth, and lights it. Tucking her fringe behind her ear, she takes in a long, deep drag as if to calm herself, and then blows out a huge puff of smoke. “You want one?” she asks me, pointing the packet at me.

  I shake my head. “No. No thanks. I don’t smoke. Well, not since college.”

  “I think today’s a good a day as any to start again.” Motioning with her head, she points the pack at me again. “Go on. You could you use one. It’ll calm your nerves a little. One won’t kill you.”

  Looking down at my leg again, a quiver of ‘what-if’ pulsates through my body. The thought of getting infected. Turning into one of those animals.

  One cigarette is the least of my worries.

  I nod, and then slide one out from the pack. Janet leans forward to light it. Taking in the nicotine, tasting the tobacco, a sudden rush of nostalgia hits me; it takes me away from the death all around me; away from my desperate hunt for Sammy. It nearly takes away the memory of Anna and what I had to do.

  But only for a second.

  I take another drag, hoping that the effect is repeated. But nothing happens. Just that foul taste of tobacco that I trained myself to hate. The stink that repelled Anna whenever I snuck a quick cigarette after a few drinks. Nothing more than that.

  I cough loudly as I hand the cigarette back over to her, shaking my head, struggling to catch my breath. Janet smiles tightly as she takes it from me.

  God, I wish she had some weed instead.

  “So what’s the story?” Janet asks. “How did you find me? I didn’t think there was anyone still alive out there. Seems like the whole of Crandale’s turned.”

  “I know. It’s bad. The entire area is cordoned off by police. And Necs have pretty much wiped out all the Cleaners. I spoke to one yesterday. He told me that there was just too many them. I guess any still alive have left already. Who knows.”

  “So how are you here? Where’ve you been hiding?”

  “Home. Just up there,” I gesture with my head over to my house. “I’ve been there since yesterday. I’ve been there since, well…Anna died. So—”

  “Your wife? Oh, Jesus Christ. I’m so sorry, Rob.”

  “She got infected the day before yesterday. And then I found out in work, so I managed to sneak past the barricade and in through the church. That wasn’t easy, I can tell you—especially since the place was swarming with Necs. I mean literally crawling wall to wall. And the rest of Crandale is pretty much infested with them too. Up and down the streets. They’re everywhere. Doorways. Houses. It’s no wonder the Cleaners lost control. They’re gonna need a small army to clear this place. Seriously. It’s really bad.”

  “I know. I shot down a few earlier.”

  “Yeah, I saw you from the window. That’s why I came here. You’re the first person I’ve seen in a while. And you’re definitely the first person I’ve seen with a tranquiliser gun.”

  She pulls the gun back out from her pocket.

  “How did you get hold of it?” I ask.

  “I found it yesterday. One of those Cleaners got attacked just outside the front door there. They tore him to shreds. Before he turned, his belt broke off. I waited ‘til he wandered off somewhere and then snuck out and grabbed it. It had his tranquiliser gun, and an almost-full magazine clipped to the top. So every time a few congregate outside, I use it. Just to keep them out, ya know. But the effects don’t last that long. Sometimes just minutes. There’s no telling.”

  “Yeah, I know. They’re only really meant to bring them down so they can be bagged up and shipped to the furnace.”

  “Oh, right. How do you know so much?”

  I contemplate telling her that I saw it online or on a documentary, but instead I decide to tell her the truth. The woman just saved my life. “I work for a company called Romkirk Limited. It’s a place where Necs are shipped. They call us Burners—and it’s our job to incinerate the infected in the furnace.”

  “Oh God. I had no idea. I thought you worked in some office or something.”

  “No. Sometimes I wish I did.”

  “So you burn them?”

  I nod.

  “So do they ever try to cure them?” she asks. “I mean, before you dispose of them?”

  “No. There is no cure, Janet. How could there be? They’re dead. Their bodies are just walking disease. Nothing else.”

  “Oh, right. See I’ve always found that hard to swallow. How can something that’s dead still be able to walk? And run. Those ones that attacked you looked pretty quick on their feet. Even quicker than me.”

  I shrug. “Scientists are always changing their minds on the whole Necro-Morbus thing. Some say it’s just motor-functions powered by adrenalin. And others say it’s the virus taking over the entire corpse. The truth is: no one really knows for sure. Not yet anyway.”

  “I read in the paper last year that they’re not dead. It’s just an advanced form of necrosis. And that the person is very much alive inside, but just trapped in some deep coma.”

  “Don’t believe everything you read. There’s always some stupid story in the paper telling us that broccoli is good for you one minute, and then the next it’s giving you cancer. No, Janet, trust me when I say this: they’re dead. There is no cure.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because of my job. It’s hard doing what I do and not take an interest in it. It’s one of the reasons I applied. I’ve always been fascinated by the disease. Ever since the first case.”

  “So what if you’re wrong?”

  I run my hand through my sweat-soaked hair and look her square in the eye. “Yesterday…I had to burn my wife in the furnace.”
<
br />   Janet’s eyes widen in shock. I can see her jaw literally drop. And who could blame her? Maybe I shouldn’t have told her. Or least avoided telling her so dramatically.

  But I did. And I can’t take it back now.

  “I’m so sorry, Rob. I had no idea. It must have been—”

  I nod, knowing exactly what she was about to say. “Worst day of my life. Bar none. And the thought of losing my son as well is just too much. So I desperately need your help, Janet. My little boy is somewhere in Crandale. Anna was probably the last person he was with. He’s four years old. Blond hair. I don’t know what he’d be wearing. The last thing he had on was his pyjamas. Maybe he’s still in them. I don’t know. They were light blue. The ordinary type with the buttons down the front. Have you seen him? Or at least heard something? I don’t know what else to do. Please.”

  “What’s your little boy called?” Janet asks.

  “It’s Sammy. Sammy Stephenson.”

  “Well, Rob—you’re in luck,” she says with a smile. “He’s here.”

  My ears almost don’t register her words; the words I’ve been longing for since I crossed the barricade. Did I imagine them? Am I still disorientated and delirious from the attack?

  “Say that again?” I ask her; leaning my head in closer as if hard of hearing.

  “I said he’s here. Your son. Sammy? He’s downstairs. In the basement. He’s safe. He’s with my husband and two children.”

  Suddenly I’m lightheaded with joy and disbelief. My stomach feels just about ready to puke up all over the floor. Don’t know why. The last thing I thought I’d be feeling is sick. Crying? Yes. Sick to the stomach? Definitely not. But here I am standing in Janet Webber’s front hall, listening to the news I would have gladly tolerated a lifetime of hell to hear. Suddenly the world outside is a minor inconvenience. A bad day at the office. A shitty holiday. Nothing like the sick and twisted world I’ve had to endure.

  Janet Webber: my new favourite neighbour. Never again will I refer to her as a weirdo.

  “Is he all right?” I ask; voice shaky. “Is he infected?”